


Reclamation

by undeadpathfinder



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate season 8, Canon Divergent, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff and Smut, Jonerys, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-06-30 09:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 73,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19850404
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/undeadpathfinder/pseuds/undeadpathfinder
Summary: “We can," Her piercing tone cut him in two and racked his aching core, "I’ve just told you how.”  He gazed at her, his mind and his heart locked in fierce contestation.Promptly she stepped around him and made for the door to leave. He stood still, cemented in place, churning ceaselessly to think of something to say, anything to make her realize. Without consideration, he turned swiftly and grasped her wrist without equivocation, just before she twisted the handle to exit; Before she could take the decisive sealing steps out of his chambers. She turned then, surprise subtly rocking her features. She glanced down at his fingers clasped around her wrist, before trailing it upward to his eyes.“Stay,” He pleaded for her, his share of anguish now prominently coming out, “Please.”====Canon-divergent 8x04 • Jon/Daenerys Centric





	1. Stay

* * *

With the Long Night finally come to an exhaustive and taxing conclusion, Winterfell had erupted into a night of celebration full of hearty merriment and jubilant reconciliations. Daenerys, however, could not feel an inkling of that blithe revelry as she stood outside Jon's chamber doors in the after-hours of the celebration as the castle finally quieted down and everyone bid their farewells for the evening. All Daenerys could feel was dread.

She stood still, suspended in place. Her hand remained raised, poised to knock. Ambivalence flowing gambit through her head as unending thoughts came in waves. Sucking in her breath, she resolved to forgo knocking and twisted the handle of the door, discovering it unlocked. She gradually bid her way inside the door, opening it slowly and catching his bowed form perching on the corner of his bed near the fire glowing in the hearth. The golden radiance of the flames licked at this side, painting him in a tender light. He made no signal of her entrance, his head remained in its low hang, steadily resting on his arm supported by his knee.

As she tentatively closed the door deftly behind her, Daenerys made her presence known. “Are you drunk?” Voice pensive, chest constrained, she couldn’t bite back the perceptible concern dripping from her words.

Jon twisted and rounded to her then. His steely shadowy eyes finally resting on hers for longer than a just fleeting moment. Her chest tumbled at his unfaltering gaze. She felt so distant from him then, just like she had when meeting him for the first time. She contemplated turning and walking back out of the room, anything to give her a reprieve from her aching and uneasy heart, but one couldn’t mistake the faint look of relief resting on his face that had kept her rooted in place. His lips moved to speak.

“No.” He voiced with as much conviction as he could muster before rising to his feet, immediately staggering as he did so. He offered a sheepish smile as he righted himself, anchoring his feet solidly on the floor beneath to prevent him from swaying. “Maybe a little.”

Daenerys finally willed her feet to move as she began to slowly glide across the room, closing the distance between the two of them while keeping a few fleeting feet apart. The warmth of the fire now coaxing and tiding over her. A nice respite from the otherwise gripping chill and shivers that threatened to ripple her body, but not from the cold.

“I didn’t know Ser Jorah well, but I know this,” Jon began as he shifted awkwardly. His eyes drifted to the floor as he spoke, carefully evading her gaze before finally settling back on hers as he finished. “If he could’ve chosen a way to die, it would’ve been protecting you.”

A surge of raw emotions churned inside her chest. “He loved me.” Startling herself with her forwardness, Jon's eyes softened understandably amidst hers as he slowly nodded. Taking calculatingly small steps forward, the distance between them evaporating with each stride, she edged closer to him. “And I couldn’t love him back, not the way he wanted.” The space between them now tantalizingly close, near enough where she could begin to feel his warm and hitched exhale on her face.

She briefly relished in its familiarity. “Not the way I love _you_.”

She watched a cacophony of emotions rage in his stormy pools before he reached out and encircled his arms around her waist, pulling her to him so their bodies were flush to one another. An embrace she didn’t know she longed for so desperately until she didn’t have it anymore.

“Is that alright?” She managed to breathe out, her voice rasp. Her heart trapped in her throat.

He remained silent as she gazed imploringly into his eyes, pleadingly looking for a sign. _Anything_ to make this excruciating wait come to an end. Each passing moment was pure agony, and his silence was perforating through her like a sickening blade. Her breath stirred.

Her internal cries were finally answered as he brought his lips down to fuse with her own. She closed her eyes and melted at the ease of his touch. He moved forward, inching her gradually backwards as she lost herself and the world began drifting away leaving only the two of them in its wake. The only thing keeping her grounded was Jon’s persistent groans as he ceaselessly crashed his lips upon her own like the continuous tiding of the beaches of Dragonstone. She ran her hands along his chest and hung them around his neck, pulling him deeper into their touch.

Jon nimbly brought his hands to caress her neck as she shifted to wrap her own around his waist. Each exasperated breath leading more into the next, Jon turned his riveted attention to the ties of her dress and began furiously tearing away, while she began frantically dancing with his belt with heightened despondency. Her lustful appetite grew mixed with frustration that it was _taking too long to_ _get the damn thing off_. With a resounding _click,_ his belt successfully unhooked before she was abruptly startled and drawn out of her haze by his harsh inhalation as he tore away from her.

All the air in her body chilled in its place as her chest became heavy, her heart once again lodging in her throat. Her blood fixed and a piercing cold cut her down where she stood. Unable to breathe she looked concerningly at his eyes to try and figure out why he had withdrawn. Except, Jon avoided her gaze, his eyes had cast downwards once again. Respiring arduously, he sharply stepped away from her and turned away. Her still-beating heart might as well have been ripped from her body. _No. No, this can’t be happening._

“I wish you’d never told me.” She croaked. “If I didn’t know I’d be happy right now.” She admitted as she stepped, defeated, towards the chest at the end of Jon’s bed, sitting upon it as he still faced away on the far side. She shook her head.

"I tried to forget." She swallowed thickly, “Tonight, I did for a while, and then I saw them gathered around you." She hung her head low for a moment, biting back the emotions that threatened to spill themselves over her, “I saw the way they looked at you. I know that _look_.”

Recollections of Essos engulfed her memory. Of being lifted off her feet. The joyful cries of the people filled her mind. _Mother! Mother! Mysha!_ She reminisced of endearing smiles, of children’s enchanting and beaming eyes. Tears began to form and cloud her vision from the edges of her eyes then as her cognizance was beckoned back to the present. _Where have I gone so wrong?_

“So many people have looked at me that way but never here. _Never_ on this side of the sea.” She choked, as she glanced down at her hands, her voice a soft respite of her usual queenly intonation.

“I told you, I don’t want it.” Muttered Jon from the side, breaking her from her moment of reverie.

“It doesn’t matter what you want!” Voice intensifying, he winched at her piercing tone. _How dare he be so naïve._ “You didn’t _want_ to be King in the North! What happens when they demand you, press your claim, and take what is mine?”

Wavering on the last sentence, she felt herself become feeble, her world was collapsing in on itself. She felt the only dream she had, of home, quickly slipping from her grasp after all this time. Her family had resided the Iron Throne for centuries, they had made it the home she always longed for. All her life, all her running, and fleeing, her setbacks and failures, her pain and suffering; They had all cultivated and shaped her, _poised_ her, to finally take back what was rightfully hers. To take back the _home_ that belonged to her _._ She bit back a sob. _If she couldn’t find a home there, What other hope could she possibly have to find a place she belonged?_

Jon finally turned and met her gaze, fear now permutating her features. Concern, then determination etched itself in his face as he moved and knelt in front of her.

“I’ll refuse,” Jon said resolutely, “you are my Queen; I don’t know what else I can say?”

She took his face in her hands and looked him dead in the eye, sheer desperation pouring out of her mouth, “You can say nothing, to anyone ever! _Never_ tell them who you really are. Swear your family and Samwell Tarly to secrecy and tell no one else.”

His incredulity rising equally with his repugnance, Jon stood quickly while giving her a queer look. She ensued and rose swiftly to meet him and seized his eyes once more.

Tears pooled heavily at the bottom of her eyes now; the dam was about to burst. “Stop it _now,_ before it takes a life of its own and you can’t control what it does to people. No matter how many times you bend the knee, no matter what you swear!” 

_No matter what it does to people, what it would do to me… but what will it do to us?_ She suffocated on the thought. The probability of losing the only semblance of a home that she has strived her entire life gutted her, but the idea of losing _both_ her home _and_ Jon seemed unendurable. He hadn’t been in her life for a long time, but he brought her happiness. In their brief time together, he truly made her feel valued, secure, and _personably_ loved. Something she felt never felt before. For once in her life, she felt she could rely on someone besides herself. Like she had a shoulder to fall back on if she needed to. A haven where she could allow herself to discard the royal veil and comfortably just be _her_ , to be the young naïve girl that lurked longingly below the surface.

She reached out and grabbed his hand, slightly trembling as she held it in her own. “I want it to be the way it _was_ between us.” Gazing into his eyes again, the storm had returned prominently. _Confusion, Anger, Reservation, Uncertainty, Shame, ... Guilt?_ It all together turned his otherwise collected and tranquil shadowy pools into a raging battleground.

He reached out with his free hand and clasped it around their hands delicately. His unfaltering gaze beamed into her own, voice dripping with ascertainment, “I _have_ to tell Sansa and Arya.” Her heart dropped into a free fall at his words. _Sansa. What person in the North could want to see me disposed of more?_

She ground her teeth and let loose with steely resolve, “Sansa, will want to see me _gone,_ and _you_ on the Iron Throne.”

“She won’t.” His stern stare and dismissive words gave her no more confidence in his naivety. _He has no clue what his sister is capable of. How could he not see?_

Conviction coursed through her veins and steeled itself in her Amethyst eyes. “She’s not the same girl you grew up with. Not after the things she’s seen. Not after what they’ve done to her.”

His self-assuredness fractured and his face contorted into a mixture of perplexity and doubt. “I owe them the truth.”

“Even if the truth destroys _us_?” her voice hardly above a whisper as her emotions strangled her.

“It won’t.”

“It _will_.” Hopelessness began to tear through every fiber of her being. She reached out and clutched his arms pulling him closer, his face was a mere touch away. Her voice trembling, “I’ve never begged for anything, but I’m _begging you,_ please, don’t do this.” She gently rocked him in her arms, their bodies crushed together again.

He raised his hands and lightly cupped her face, extending her as much assuredness as he could while he also staunchly beamed into her eyes. “You are my Queen; _nothing_ will change that." He paused a beat still holding her, squeezing her reassuringly, “And they are my _family_ , we _can_ live together.”

He gave a weak smile, but she knew the truth. She abdicated herself, feeling defeated. Recognizing that this battle was lost and the lines in the sand had been drawn. Her expression went vacant, a self-reflection of the cavity she felt in her chest. She answered his gaze one last time.

“We _can,"_ Her cold tone wired shivers down her spine, "I’ve just told you _how_.” With one last flick amid his eyes, the last ember of hope now dimmed leaving her chest as dark as the eyes that dared gaze back. She moved around him and strode for the door to leave.

* * *

“We _can,"_ Her piercing tone cut him in two and racked his aching core, "I’ve just told you _how_.” He gazed at her, his mind and his heart locked in fierce contestation.

Promptly she stepped around him and made for the door to leave. He stood still, cemented in place, churning ceaselessly to think of something to say, anything to make her realize. Without consideration, he turned swiftly and grasped her wrist without equivocation, just before she twisted the handle to exit; Before she could take the decisive sealing steps out of his chambers. She turned then, surprise subtly rocking her features. She glanced down at his fingers clasped around her wrist, before trailing it upward to his eyes.

“Stay,” He pleaded for her, his share of anguish now prominently coming out, “Please.”

She was still for a moment, unmoving, while her eyes rested glaringly fastened on his. After an ostensibly agonizing few seconds had passed, she gradually lifted her hand from the handle of the door behind her. His breath escaped his chest where his anxiety had sealed it in, almost certain she was going to ignore his plea and walk out anyway.

He carefully let go of her wrist, unaware of just how long he held it in his grasp. She took the opening to fold her hands in front of her. Regal mask resting over her features now. She beseechingly probed his eyes looking for the reason he was attempting to prolong their exchange.

He sucked in a gust of air and reigned in his composure before meeting her fiery and prying gaze. Not sure where to start he turned sheepishly and made his way to the chest where Daenerys had sat only moments prior. Following her example, he settled himself down before he anxiously buried his face in his hands, clutching at his hair and kneading his eyes as he did so. His mind swirled uncontrollably with unrepressed bouts of ambivalence, apprehension, and predominantly, guilt. As was the case ever since finding out the truth about himself.

He knew he had to be better. If not for himself, for her, at least. Reticence was not an acceptable form of discourse at this particular terse crossroads. _Daenerys would understand what he had to say._ _Wouldn’t she?_ _She would have walked out if she didn’t mean to try to care._ Wordlessly, he nodded his head. _She’s here to support him._ He inhaled deeply, collecting up all the steadfastness he could before beginning plainly, and earnestly.

“I feel lost.”

He suffocated on his emotions which took him grippingly as the words he excruciatingly conceived internally for the past nights had finally materialized and escaped the confines of his mind. Birthing them, legitimizing them, no longer only resounding in his echo chamber. No longer his burden to bear alone. The anchor on chest seemed to lift slightly, he found he could breathe a little easier, so he pressed on.

“I am being torn apart. I don’t, -" he stammered and bunched up his hair in his hands again, "I don’t know what to do. What to think, what to _feel_.”

His focus drifted to the floor in case it happened to show him some answers. The scuttle of boots waked him from his numbness. He brought his eyes up to Daenerys, who was no longer standing firm by the door but had begun to leisurely make her way over to him. Her hands lax by her sides again, she took a long, wary, and pondering look into him. No doubt surprised to this seldom side of him, an unrestrained view into the abscess of his mind and all that inhabited it, the insecurities, the vulnerabilities. She slowly sat beside him in silence, separated only by the linen of their wears. He continued.

“All my life, I've wanted to be a Stark. So I could have that sense of family, to finally feel like I _belonged_ somewhere.”

Reminiscing about the times he was training as a young boy with Robb as his father observed proudly, the corners of his lips curved. He turned to look at Daenerys who was still silently watching him with rapt attention, her gaze had relaxed, beaming tenderly and un-abrasive to let him know that she truly regarded what he was saying and feeling. His heart warmed a bit at the kind encouragement radiating from her violet pools as they peered into his own.

“Jon Stark,” He chuffed, “I looked up to father my whole life. His honor, his pride, he was everything I wanted to be. Not a lord, not a nobleman; just a man doing what he felt was right.”

At the thought of his father, Ned, Jon drooped his head and began fiddling anxiously with his hands, clenching and unclenching them into fists as to keep his mind entertained from the sorrow that still surged underneath. Still so poignant, so raw. Promises made, promises crushed. _How might things had been different had he told me of mother all those years ago?_

Daenerys had taken notice of his fretful habit during their time together on the way to White Harbor and instinctually swept out and took his hand, taking it in her own and relaxing it along her thigh before softly stroking his knuckles with her thumb. She extended a sincere smile as she did so. He felt immediately comforted by her placid touch and settled back into his train of thought.

“To find out that that it was all a lie – that he lied to me my entire life - and the hate I endured, the reticle, the damnation, it was all for _nothing_. The only stain on my father’s honor and he did it for me. And for what? He’s dead! Even Catelyn never knew that Ned was true to the end!” A tear burst through his resolve as it slipped from his eyes, dampening his cheek with a glistening streak as his voice had startlingly risen. His chest tensed as a myriad of emotions raced through him, but Daenerys remained faithful with her presence.

Her voice was gentle and soothing when she finally spoke, “He didn’t lie to you, Jon. He was _protecting_ you." Words echoing the sentiments he heard from another conversation, Daenerys gave his hand a solid squeeze as she drew his attention back to her. "You know Robert would’ve murdered you had he known. Much like he tried to do to me many times.” He remarked the intensely sobering and sorrowful look in her eyes. Still, he couldn’t put aside his own affliction. He felt wounded at the thought that even _she_ would make _him_ lie about himself.

He carefully worked over the words that unnerved his mind before freeing them with poised emotion, “Even _you._ Even you want to keep it a secret. To keep _me_ a secret. To cast it away, as if my identity, my _truth_ , is just another piece in a game to be used without consideration.” His body trembled as he resettled his eyes warily back on her own, worried what he might encounter as he did so. Unexpectedly, he didn’t witness the fury or anger he anticipated at his accusatory words, but more poignantly, he saw pained guilt and regret. He could see, in her quickly moistening eyes, that she felt remorseful. She deftly brought her other hand to rest on his, holding it tight and offering a tender squeeze.

She elevated her hand to cup his face and rolled her thumb along his cheek, “I _never_ want to you think that what you feel doesn’t matter. If anything, what you feel matters more to me than you can imagine.” She said with the utmost of sincerity before casting her eyes away in shame. “I’m sorry I’ve acted so inconsiderately, it’s been unfair.” She bowed her head then, “I don’t want you to feel like you have to _choose_ between me or your family. All I want is for you to understand is that your identity is _dangerous_ in the _wrong hands_ if we aren’t careful. Dangerous to me. Dangerous to _us.”_

“I don’t understand,” He doubted, mildly shaking his head, “so _help_ me understand. What makes you so sure _Sansa_ will be such a threat with this information?” _How could my sister be the wrong hands?_

She lamented before speaking plainly. “After everything that’s happened to her, Sansa demands Northern Independence.”

The words casually left her lips but still bewildered him. “Northern Independence!?” His mouth left agape. “We haven’t even defeated Cersei!”

She returned his steady gaze then, “Regardless, Sansa would _weaponize_ your claim to the throne to get what she wants. Without me, she would stand unchallenged to freely name herself Queen in the North and declare the North independent as she desires. I’m the solitary thing persisting in her way.” Her voice remained stern. He stared at her penetratingly, seeking for any sign of deceit but he couldn’t find any in her eyes. They still beamed honest. _When was she ever dishonest with me?_ He sighed.

He returned focus to the floor and brought his hands back to grasp his head. It was spinning. _Sansa would never do that._ _I knew her better than that…_ _he did, didn’t he?_

His thoughts drifted to his sister as the young girl always gleefully trailing his mother when he was growing up. Offering him the same sidelong glances and looks. He reflected on the Battle of the Bastards, and how she intentionally withheld information about the Knights of the Vale, which would have surely altered his battle plans. More likely, it would’ve prevented him from nearly being killed on more times than he could count. He thought of her continual attempts to undermine him and his authority as King of the North, in front of his lords, on numerous occasions. His face twisted into a fierce grimace at the consideration. _Maybe she wanted me to die?_ _It would’ve been convenient. She then would’ve been the one to rule Winterfell._

Trying to push the thought aside, he quickly stood and paced fervently in front of the fire before eventually leaning on the side of the hearth, rubbing his eyes with his index and thumb. _Military tactics and strategy always came easy to him. Psychological questions and hypotheticals did not._ The fading fire now radiating much less warmth than would be desired. He took a log and cast it into the pile and tended it until the fire was lively again. He watched the crackling flames for a moment, cultivating and processing his decision through his mind, before turning back to face Daenerys, still sitting patiently and ever attentive.

“Sansa and Arya are my family. The only family I truly have left. I still feel obligated to tell them the truth,” He hesitated and could tell Daenerys’ breathe fastened in her throat before he swiftly followed up, “but you are right.” He assured, “I can’t pretend like they are the same sisters I grew up with within these very walls all those years ago.” Jon saw Daenerys’ shoulders visibly ease as his words crested his lips. Her gaze immediately lessened in its intensity and a softness flooded back to them as they returned to met his own.

“I won’t tell them. Not _yet_.” At this, she suddenly rose and closed the distance between them quickly, eyes beaming in earned disbelief as well as endearing appreciation. “I don’t know when I plan to do so, but I won’t tell anyone before consulting with you _first_. I promise.” He gently swept out and took her hand, rolling his thumb gently over her knuckles this time, “This affects _you_ just as it does me. I can see that.”

“Thank you, Jon.” She heaved a sigh of release, her lips curled up cordially and graced him with a reassuring smile. Her eyes showcased the swelling emotion that coursed beneath the surface.

His heart expanded at the sight of her upturned faced, a far cry from only moments prior. He suddenly felt vindicated, proud even, of himself. Throughout his life, he sheltered moments that he would regret for the rest of his days because of his indecision. His hesitancy and insufficiency to act when the time came or when it was the most appropriate.

_This would not be one of those moments._

“I don’t want to lose you, Daenerys.” He placed his hands on her waist then, holding her tight. Her familiar and soothing warmth coaxing through him as he tenderly peered into her brimming violet eyes, hoping she could see the genuineness of his words. “I just need _time_. Time to choose who I _want_ to be. Whom I’m _meant_ to be.”

Hardly concluding his words, Daenerys raced her hands to his face and held him so their gaze was steady. “You don’t have to _choose._ This does not define _who_ you are, nor the things you’ve done.You are just as much Jon to me, as you are Aegon; as much Stark to the world, as you are Targaryen and you _always_ will be. No one will ever take that away from you. Not while I live. I promise." She finished with the firm tone of their earlier exchange, but this time it was interjected with love, not with despair.

_He didn’t have to choose._

His aching chest immediately unwound with the unrelenting and binding tightness that had tormented him the past nights. The pressures on his shoulders lifted, and the vice grip that had enveloped him slackened. It felt as if she knew his conversation with Theon and was using his own words against him. _That’d be twice now: …_ _You don’t have to choose. You are a Stark, and you are a Greyjoy._ He’d never get the chance to relay how much it meant for him to hear the words he longed to hear, from a source other than the entrapment of his mind. He didn’t care who might’ve said it to him, but the fact it came from _her_ made his heart tumble inside his chest.

_She was right._

His lips curled into a grin as emotions raced in him. He leaned forward, pressing her to him so their bodies were flush once again as he gently lowered his lips onto hers. He kissed her sincerely, and she returned enthusiastically, allowing this moment to speak for himself. More than a thousand words.

He pulled away, benevolently this time, and relaxed their foreheads together. He gazed into her eyes with a giant smile on his face, that she reciprocated. He opted to verbalize nonetheless, “Thank you, Dany.”

Her cheeks flushed as the sound of her nickname crossed his lips, thick with his beloved northern accent. A sunny smile broke to the surface and she looked genuinely happy. Slowly she pulled her arms from him and shyly returned them to her sides. Her focus passingly glazed the room before looking understandingly back at him and giving him a coy nod.

“Thank you for talking to me. For allowing me a glimpse into your mind.” She stood musing a moment before continuing, “I should retire for the night. I will give you all the time and respect you need.” She finished with a nod and a timid smile.

Daenerys had listened to him and blessed him with her understanding and her patience. That’s all he could’ve asked for.

“Thank you for staying, for listening. It means more than you can know.”

“Of course.” She gave a gentle squeeze on his forearm.

He sent her a sympathetic gaze. She turned and headed to the door, appearing lighter than last time, uplifted. He trailed her and leaned on the wall adjacent to the exit. She languidly pulled it open and turned to face him one final time.

“Goodnight, Jon.”

He beamed, “Goodnight, Dany.”

* * *

The early morning sunlight gently stirred him from his sleep. An orange glow imperceptibly coaxed itself along his chamber walls emanating from the windows. The sun just now scarcely beginning to rise _._ He groaned as his head pulsated in protest of the previous night's celebrations before he warily wrestled out of covers and planted his feet on the chilly stone floor. He hoisted himself up and rubbed his eyes, blurriness’ of a night’s sleep subsiding leisurely, he strode over and began putting on his northern garb. As he finished up and laced his boots, he placidly glided to the door and grasped his heavy northern cloak, dressing it over his shoulders before dragging the door open.

He begrudgingly drove his feet forward and omitted the sanctity of his quarters. The bitter northern chill unbiddenly clawed at his face, flushing his nose, cheeks, and ears. He fastened his cloak tighter around him and started towards the Winterfell crypts. As he made his way down the stairs leading to the courtyard, he could see it hastening with activity. Soldiers of all strides of life; Northmen, Unsullied, Wildings, Dothraki (what remained), all milled about stocking firewood, battlements, and other tools needed to help fasten the clean up of the castle after the battle. It brought a smirk to his face. _He’d never tire of the unlikely sight._

He gingerly navigated and fringed himself through the courtyard before retracing familiar ground as he began descending the steps into the resting place of his family and ancestors. He took a torch off the wall and began the short but winding walk through the labyrinth of tunnels.

Effortlessly he settled himself standing in front of the statue of his father, Ned Stark. He gazed silently at the stone carved in the late man’s image. His mind wishing it to come alive if only to step forward and place his hand on Jon’s shoulder and squeeze it assuredly. _That his father peered down on him and smiled._

_“I’m proud of you, Jon.”_

A tear betrayed his outwardly imperturbable appearance and slid down his cheek. Jon wasn’t typically gifted with many forms of expression but standing in the damp and smothering air of the crypts before his father, his mentor, _his uncle…_ caused his reserved nature to crumble without a second thought. He swayed forward and laid his hand on the statue’s arm as he grappled to get words out.

“I know – you were trying to protect me - I do.” His words coming out weak. “But that doesn’t make this any easier.” He pulled back and slowly tore his gaze to the statue to the right.

_Lyanna Stark._

“Mother.” He whispered simply as he rounded in front of the depiction of the person he always longed to know. He imagined her image. A strong-minded fighter, with a heart of passion, and an undeniable Stark stubbornness. Jon let out a small chortle as he thought of his little sister.

_No statue could do you justice._

His mood turned melancholy again as his regard turned to the dirt beneath him. “I wish I got the chance to know you,” _To feel loved, and wanted,_ “To know what it would’ve been like.”

He wiped his eyes with his gloved hand and placed the torch in the holder along the small column separating the two statues. He took a step back and observed the flames, the light beginning to dance across the stoic features of the figures, giving them a life-like quality. As if there truly were standing in front of him. He resigned himself and breathed.

Jon lowered himself to sit and leaned against the opposite wall and gazed up at the two people most influential in his life. His head reclined on the cold stone wall behind him as he focused once more on Lyanna’s statue.

His thought drifted to all the stories of Lyanna being taken by Rhaegar, forced away by some cruel, savage warrior. The truth was that she loved him. And he loved her. He jeopardized everything, his image, his reputation, and even all the Seven Kingdoms, all for a woman that he truly loved. _Damn it all he must’ve said._ The thought made Jon’s lips creep upwards. He almost felt envious.

_It must have felt liberating in a way._

His face quickly turned into a scowl the more he dug into that particular train of thought. _The love that brought them together, that had given me life, plunged the seven kingdoms asunder into chaos and war._ He quivered as crushing guilt resounded in his conscience. _How many had died because my father chose his love over his duty?_ _How many families were torn apart, stricken with fear they’d never see each other again? Would the seven kingdoms even had a war that brought death and destruction to thousands, and stirred a generation of resentment, had he not been for his parent's selfish desires?_ Jon hung his head in gravely as his thoughts fleeted elsewhere.

_“Love is the death of duty.”_

_What was his purpose?_ All his life it’s felt as he’s been a malleable instrument, tirelessly bending and twisting to fight the _next_ enemy, the _next_ battle, the _next_ war. Whatever else the world requested of him. One after another. The Nights Watch, The Wildings, the Bolton’s, The Army of the Dead, and now, the Lannisters. All necessary events and parts of his life that defined him. Experiences that molded and forged him into the survivor he _needed_ to be, rather than the person he _longed_ to be _._ A part of him hoped he would have died bringing an end to the Long Night if was honest with himself. _How much simpler things would’ve been, how content he would’ve left this world knowing his life’s penultimate purpose was complete. No more incertitude, no more guessing._ Yet, here he was, _alive_ , having defeated the most terrifying enemy in known existence, and still, unfulfilled. _Unsatisfied_.

Jon reflected on the agonizing, ceaseless quality of his life. The seemingly inescapable spur of Duty crushing him under its indefatigable march forward. He immediately felt subjugated, like he hasn’t gotten a chance to reconcile in years. Battles fought; battles won. Men saved; men killed. His life had taken him across the world, to see wonders and horrors he never could’ve dreamt of. From the living and breathing manifestation of fire and life anew in the form of dragons to the haunting personification of ice and death that had lurked beyond the wall. He was home, he should be happy, but his heart had remained pained. _Why? Why couldn’t he just be happy for once in his life?_

 _What gave him purpose? _His mind stirred and his heart palpitated. His eyes leveled with a newfound weight and he found himself staring at the ground underneath his boots. He clenched his hands into fists and wrestled them across his knees, bowing his head down tenuously. _Perhaps it’s not his place in life to get what he desired?_ _When has he ever got anything he ever truly wanted?_ _True belonging_ , _true understanding_ , _true love?_ … _Never._ He pondered the sad thought. In truth, he's always been pining for other people. Doing _their_ wishes _._ Doing only what was _expected_ of him. _Following orders._

_"Duty is the death of love.”_

He softly sobbed as memories flooded back to him. Reveries of belonging, of understanding, of real, _tangible_ love, enveloped up all into one reminiscence all came sailing straight to his heart. Flashes of serenity swelled his heart, more poignant and intoxicating than he had ever felt in his entire life. A recollection of wholeness, of completeness, filled him distinctly. A feeling he truly never knew, even _before_ the daggers had punctured his chest and riddled him full of holes. Aroma’s of the salty sea stirred his lungs as a sweet fragrance of lavender oil began to fill the memory. He longingly recalled rocking gently with the steadily swaying ship as he affectionately caressed the source of the alluring scent with his fingers in a daze. Earning blissful purrs and wisps of delight that carried like an angelic chorus as he did so. He breathed out slowly, reluctant to move on from the precious memory just yet.

 _“What is honor compared to a woman's love? What is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms …_ _We are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. That is our great glory and our great tragedy.”_

His exhale come out like a cloud from the biting cold but he didn’t even notice. He simply closed his eyes and sat in the quietude. Reveling in the moment, the stillness, the peacefulness.

_Maybe, he had found his place of belonging? Maybe, he did discover the family he longed for his whole life? What if, sometimes, you find a home in the place you least expect?_

For just a fleeting moment, he could almost convince himself that the fighting was over. The violence and bloodshed had come to an end, and he no longer had to rely on his skills with a sword to guard his life, but rather the virtues of his imagination to let him _fulfill_ it.

It was everything he could want.

_Almost, everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been a loitering member of this site for the past few months ever since I first read the utterly devastating leaks detailing the demise of two of my all-time favorite characters. Following that time, I've read countless totally marvelous Jonerys fics that have been submitted by amazingly talented writers. I love, cherish, and treasure them all, and then go back and re-read them again in infatuation. It is truly heartwarming to see the sheer dedication and passion so many of you carry for these characters we've all come to love so dearly. As a stranger to fan-fiction, the community found here was welcoming and inviting when desperately I sought for it. As an even bigger newcomer to writing, I'm incredibly excited, and scared-as-hell, to share my first-ever contribution to the world of fan-fiction. Go easy on me! (Kidding.)
> 
> Enough about me, thank you for taking the time to check out the beginnings of my story! I've already concluded writing the complete first arc of my three-arc story that I've already plotted and outlined. Since I've got a headstart on the legwork, expect interval updates. Appreciations again everyone, see you next time.


	2. Bonds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story expands as we explore new interactions between familiar characters. Old bonds are tested, while some new ones are forged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for the completely overwhelming response to my first chapter. I was very emotional, you all are too kind. 
> 
> As the story continues to develop, one thing I want to clarify before you read is my rule of thumb when approaching conversations. Simply put, if we haven't seen or heard a character explicitly receive a piece of information, I assume they don't know about it. Hope you enjoy it!

* * *

Jon was drawn from his equanimity by a call. Davos emerged at the end of the tunnel, thick accent perforating through the deathly stillness that otherwise inhabited the crypts.

“Jon? I’ve been wandering all over for you, the meeting is about to start, are you appearing or what?” How long he remained in the silence of his mother and uncle was unbeknownst to him. He swiftly snapped out of the trance he was in, and gestured to arise. Davos drew his arm down together with his as he let the man heave him to his feet.

“You alright, lad?” Davos asked, concerningly whisking some dust and dirt off of Jon’s cloak that had accumulated while he sat.

Jon lifted his arm and leaned it on Davos’ shoulder, offering a timid smile as he did so, “I’m fine Davos, just a bit introspective is all.”

The man gave a quick sideways glance to the figures in front of them before giving a deep sigh. “Ah, I understand, lad. I know what it’s like to miss family.” Davos offered sympathetically before casting his head down in respect.

Jon appreciated the old man’s gesture as he returned his hand to his side and signaled forward so they could start making their way to the council meeting. Davos took the lead then, and Jon followed promptly, stepping alongside the man as they proceeded their way to the exit.

Before they reached the surface, Davos halted him with his arm. “For whatever it’s worth, Jon, _I am_ immensely proud of you and what you’ve done. No one else in this world could’ve brought together such a band of unlikely allies to work together against a common enemy.” He reflected and clapped Jon on the back. “You’ve done the impossible lad, and we succeeded. I know your father would be extremely proud.” 

Jon offered a faint smile in return. He nodded scantily at Davos, who returned his grin before the two of them headed back up above ground once more into the chilly air that awaited them.

Time of the essence, Jon and Davos quickly shouldered their way across the passing crowds and made their entrance to the Winterfell library which had speedily been renovated in a command hub for the forces of the North in the interim after the Long Night.

As the two pushed the door open and strode inside, a cast of people turned to glance impatiently at the two. Jon swallowed suddenly. He promptly moved to fill the void that had existed next to Tyrion and peered at the map of Westeros sprawled across the long table. Jon offered a coy glance up to Daenerys, who was already gazing at him. She provided an amiable smile, which he kindly reciprocated before she yielded her attention to the matter at hand.

Grey Worm brushed past Jon and grabbed a sizable quantity of the symbols used to represent the Unsullied on the map before casting them aside and removing them. “Half are gone.” Stating punctually, before returning to his original position.

Feeling the aura of the room quickly fall deathly strained and still, devoid of all shuffling, breath hitched in their collective throats, Jon moved forward to break the uncomfortable lull and mirrored Grey Worms actions. Seizing handfuls of the Northern markers and drawing them aside, “The Northmen as well.” He simply added.

The new Dothraki leader shadowed wordlessly and removed considerably more than half of his pieces. Whatever was left of the Dothraki was stretched paper-thin. 

Daenerys continued to look fixedly at the pieces as they began to dwindle steadily in number as they were pulled off the map before Varys broke the silence, driving several golden pieces with white skulls forth onto the field of play, “The Golden Company has arrived in King’s Landing, thanks to the Greyjoy fleet. The balance of power has grown distressingly _even_.” Daenerys shut her eyes in visible aggravation.

Trying to think of a reason to break the uneasiness that had clearly settled on everyone at this point, Missandei spoke up with innocent optimism, “When the people find out what we have done for them, that we saved them –”

Daenerys gently brought down her friend's enthusiasm. “Cersei will make sure no one believes it.” Her voice swiftly turned steely and resolutely at the mention of the queen residing on the Iron Throne presently, nearly grimacing as she spoke again, “We will hit her hard. We will rip her out root and stem." 

Tyrion shuffled uncomfortably at the not-so-lucid interpretation of her words and tone. 

“The objective here is to remove Cersei, _without_ destroying King’s Landing.” He reminded softly, reaping an incendiary stare that Jon was happy he was not the recipient of as he did so.

Varys promptly came to recover Tyrion, “Thankfully, she is losing allies by the day. Yara Greyjoy has retaken the Iron Islands in her Queens name, and the new Prince of Dorne pledges his support as well.” 

Daenerys quickly countered snippedly, “No matter how many lords turn against her, she can sit on the Iron throne and call herself ‘Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.’” Daenerys’ glare incinerating Varys alive as well now, she pointed to Kings Landing sternly, “We _need_ the Capital.” 

Tyrion cleared his throat, steadily avoiding her gaze, before it gradually resettled on hers again, “I watched the people of King’s Landing rebel against their king when they were hungry, and that was _before_ winter began. Give them an opportunity, and they will cast Cersei aside.” He reassured, despondent for her to see all possible alternatives than trying to take the city by force. Jon couldn’t blame him.

_Trying to storm King’s Landing was not something he was ready to imagine as conceivable at this point in time._

That didn’t stop him from offering his own ideas and chiming in his support, “We’ll surround the city. If the Iron fleet tries to ferry in more food, the dragons will destroy them. If the Lannister’s, or the Golden Company attack, we will defeat them in the field.” Daenerys’ eyes softened immediately as they met his own. He found comfort in her gentle gaze, holding their attention for perhaps a moment too long. 

Tyrion coughed into his hand, breaking their two brusque stares, “Once people see that Cersei is their only enemy, her reign is over.” He punctuated.

Daenerys sighed, resignedly, “Alright.”

It was Sansa who now seized everyone’s attention with steely tenacity in her eyes. Evidently matching the same fierceness found in Daenerys’, “The men we have left are exhausted. Many of them are wounded. They will fight better if they have time to rest and recuperate.” Her sharp and snide tone no longer choosing to placate her open disdain.

“How long do you suggest?” Daenerys cut as her eyes stared daggers.

Sansa tilted her chin up in a power move. “I can’t say, not for certain, not without speaking to the officers.”. The room chilled as Daenerys’ deathly stare caused Jon to shift his weight instinctually, even though it wasn’t directed at him.

Her unnervingly calm voice came as scolding as Dragonfire, “I came north to fight alongside you, at _great_ cost to my armies and myself. Now that the time has come to reciprocate, you want to _postpone_?” 

Sansa flinched, “It’s not just _our_ people, it’s _yours_. You want to throw them into a war they are not ready to fight?” Her hands still clasped firmly behind her back and chin held high, she fought Daenerys’ resolve tooth and nail. The power struggle leaving many in the room uncomfortable.

“The longer I leave my enemies alone, the stronger they become.” Daenerys finished matter-of-factly. 

Jon shot Sansa a suppressed look of disbelief before he offered words of encouragement to disarm and pacify the tension, “The Northern forces will honor their _promises_ , and their _allegiance_ , to the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” He rounded and captured Daenerys’ attention once more, ensuring his voice left nothing interpretation as he continued, “What you command, we will obey.”

Shoulders falling ever so slightly, she gave him a firm nod as a gesture of her appreciation. 

Tyrion interrupted the tautness, moving to wrap things up, “So, if all agree, Jon and Ser Davos will ride down the Kings Road with the Northern troops and the bulk of the remaining Dothraki and Unsullied.” 

At this Jon moved the tokens of the Northmen, as well as detachments of Unsullied and Dothraki, along with the emblem depicting Rhaegal down the King’s Road. Without hesitation, however, Grey Worm swiftly grabbed Rhaegal’s symbol and pushed it back to its original position. Jon gave him a sideways leer and glimpsed across to Daenerys to see if this was intentional. She offered no clues as her eyes remained downcast, glued to the table. Tyrion continued.

“A smaller group of us will ride to White Harbor and from there sail to Dragonstone with our Queen and her dragon’s accompanying us from above. We will reconvene briefly again tomorrow to discuss any last concerns before beginning our venture south.” He finished and took a step away from the table, abdicating his peace.

Daenerys took her hands and folded them in front of her while looking around the table. “We have won the Great War. _Now_ we will win the Last War.” Her gaze then un-surreptitiously found their place on Sansa’s. “In all Seven Kingdoms, men will live without fear nor cruelty,” Her voice unbending and lacking no definitiveness, “Under their _rightful_ Queen.” Sansa scowled.

Daenerys forced a grin and turned to exit the room. Her entourage followed closely in her wake. As Tyrion gathered up the rear, Jon motioned to accompany them before Arya stepped in front of him and obstructed his path.

“We need a word.”

* * *

His sisters were unrecognizable in front of him. Even Arya, the one who always looked up to him and treated him with the most respect growing up seemed so distant now. He took a wavering step back, steadying himself and reigning in his rage. He closed his eyes briefly, kneading them with his fingers before he gathered his composure and glanced back to the two of them. His gaze was fierce, unyielding.

“You two understand we’d all be dead if not for her? Nothing but corpses marching down to King’s Landing right now!” Jon shouted, astonished at their arrogance.

“Arya is the one that killed the Night King!” Sansa fumed back. Crossing her arms in front of her like a chastised child.

Jon’s mouth went agape at her proclamation, “She only had the opportunity because _her_ men gave their lives defending Winterfell!” He bitterly spat back.

“And we’ll never forget that,” Sansa recoiled, “but that doesn’t mean I want to _kneel_ to someone –”

“Someone who what?!” Jon suddenly interposed, “Someone who selflessly put aside her life’s ambitions because of the word of some bastard she never met, who quipped of living dead men?” His voice has risen increasingly as his temper wore thin.

 _I can’t believe what I’m hearing._ _Daenerys was right._

“I respect what you did,” Arya spoke for the first time now, resolve calm and undisturbed at Jon’s outburst.

Sansa whipped her eyes over to Arya now, stunned at her declaration. “You _respect_ it?”

Arya coolly looked back to her sister, “We _needed_ her. Her armies, her dragons.” She shifted back to face Jon, “You did the right thing. And now _we’re_ doing the right thing by telling you that we don’t trust your queen.”

_They don’t understand. How could he make them understand?_

He clenched his fist tightly. If they only knew what he had known. _Why couldn’t they see what he saw? Why couldn’t they see the altruistic Queen that he did? The Queen who always was looking out for the small peoples under her, who was looking to make a good, and better, world?_ He unclenched his fists and reigned in a chilling exhale as he let the biting air coax his inner fury and soothe him.

His voice, when he spoke, was startlingly calm now, “You wanted to know why I did it.” 

Sansa gave him a queer look before answering for both of them, “Why you did what, Jon?”

“Why I bent the knee to Daenerys Targaryen.” He stated plainly.

She scoffed as she looked down her nose at him, as if it were self-evident, “Because you love her, Jon. The same reason you stormed out on me when I asked before.” She finished with an insidious sneer.

He shook his head, unperturbed at her biting words and snark face. “No.”

Sansa craned her neck over to Arya to see if she knew something she didn’t. Her face still contorted in its flash of conviction, like she had him pegged. Arya returned her usual indifferent look, eyeing him carefully and with acute attention. 

Jon sucked in a breath and sighed before starting the story. The story of how he had met Daenerys Targaryen. The story of how he managed to convince her to help him and the story of how she had ultimately saved the realm from the peril most had cast aside. 

_The story… of how he fell in love with Daenerys Targaryen._

Bowing his head down and gazing at the comforting blanket of snow beneath him, he began. “After I arrived on Dragonstone, it was clear that Daenerys didn’t believe a word I said about the Army of the Dead.” His voice pensive, adrift in remembrance of a time that felt so long ago.

Sansa and Arya both looked at him quizzically, but both held their tongues. Allowing him to continue. “To prove my claim to not only Daenerys, but also to Cersei that the threat was _real_ ; that the White Walkers, Night King, and the Army of the Dead were _all_ real; Tyrion proposed a plan to capture a wight north of the wall to bring back the irrefutable, tangible proof that no one would be able to deny.” Their faces grew distressed at the realization of his words, and what exactly they meant.

“I led this venture, -” He quickly exhaled, voice cracking. The memory of that day did not rest easy with him. His eyes pitched once again to the comforting white blanket that enveloped the trees and environment around him. Offering quick glances to the scattering red leaves blowing softly in the wind, he gathered the resolve to continue, “- later on in our expedition, when we found them, we became trapped on a small island on a frozen lake. We were surrounded by _thousands_ of them.” 

He met their gazes then, both looked captivated by his tale, their breath slowed, "Quickly, the dead began their assault, and we held them for as long as we could. Tiring and outnumbered, it wasn’t long before we were cornered, back-to-back, all hope of survival dissipating.” His solemn voice nailed home the seriousness of his tale. 

“I accepted death at that moment.” Sansa and Arya swayed breathlessly.

“It was then, as all hope was lost, that Daenerys, heeding my request for help, arrived with her three dragons and saved us all. They climbed on-board with her, while I tried to buy them time. That was when the Night King speared one of her three dragons - her _child_ – right out of the sky, killing it instantly. I was knocked nearly unconscious as wights tackled me into the icy water. While the Night King prepared to kill yet another one of her dragons, Daenerys was forced to flee to safety. ” He stammered his eyes shut for a moment, finding the recollection particularly difficult to think back on.

_How close he had come to death, and the steep price she paid for him to live. He still wasn’t sure if it was worth the trade._

He shot his eyes open again and bore fiercely back at them, “You _knew_ I went south with the information that Daenerys had _three_ dragons but never even bothered to question when we arrived with _two_.” His tone cut through them, unforgiving. He shook his head in disgust and averted his gaze for a moment and chuffed, “Not that you cared.”

Their faces went pale, and they remained ever silent as they continued to listen to Jon. The shock on their faces was evident as they finally learned the truth and processed the full story of how the Night King came in possession of a dragon. _Daenerys’ dragon_. _The price she reaped. For them._

“When I finally came to later, do you know who was waiting for me?” He challenged as he looked between his sisters. “Who had been waiting with me the entire time I was out?” They dared not say a word. He needn’t answer.

“And do you know what the first thing she said to me was after I finally woke after that true nightmare?” More reticence. “After I regained consciousness, Daenerys immediately pledged herself, her dragons, _and all_ her forces to our cause.” He drove the point home to make them understand. “ _No_ oaths of fealty. _No_ expectations. _No_ questions. Without me even having bent the knee, Daenerys already pledged everything she had to us. _To save the North,_ all while we offered _nothing in return_.”

Surprisingly, Sansa hooked her head in shame. Arya continued to look at him, but her eyes were heavy, he nearly scoffed as he observed a faint glimmer of sympathy in them now.

“It wasn’t _until_ she pledged her loyalty to me, to _our_ cause, when I finally bent the knee because it was at that moment when I truly understood _who_ Daenerys Targaryen was. The type of woman she is, the type of _leader_ that she aspired to be.” Sansa slowly lifted her head and met his gaze after a time.

“Jon... I -, I had no idea - ” She offered pathetically.

“Of course not! You _never_ _asked_ , did you?” He growled at her, causing her face to contort with shock and humiliation, “You never once even _considered_ asking about anything! All you’ve ever done since I won us back our home is plot and scheme if you don’t get your way.” He spat as she reeled back and took on an afflicted look. “Maybe, _just maybe,_ if you actually _talked_ to Daenerys you would find out that you two have a lot more in common than you think!” He scornfully shook his head, “Maybe Littlefinger had more of an impact of you than I thought.”

Sansa's lips moved to dare to dissent before she wisely bit her tongue and held her response. Eyes continuing their unwavering incendiary focus on Sansa, he raised his hand and pointed sharply at her, nearly grazing her chest as he took a step forward.

“Don’t you _dare_ have the audacity to lecture me about _trust,_ or the impudence to _presume_ my intentions _ever_ again! I will not hear another word about this until _after_ our commitment and promise to Daenerys is complete. You _owe_ her that much for saving your lives. For saving _all_ our lives!” He roared before spinning sharply on his heel and leaving them to their own thoughts.

* * *

Jon stormed out of the godswood and propped himself against a wall once out of sight of the entrance. He breathed heavily and reclined his head on his arm that was braced against the wall for a moment as he steadied himself. With a new wind, he pushed himself off and headed to the courtyard. 

While looking around for Davos to begin talking about their plans for the march south, he passingly spotted Daenerys talking with her advisors on the walkway above. He caught her eye and sent her a modest smile before he scaled the stairs to accompany her group, needing the distraction from the frustration only moments prior.

“Your Grace.” He bowed as he stepped into the assembly.

Daenerys waved at her advisors, “Leave us.”

Tyrion and Varys wordlessly dipped their heads and stalked away to whatever scheming the two get to in their free time. He peered at them as they descended the stairs and made their way across the courtyard before her voice brought him back to face her.

“Thank you for supporting me during the War Council.” Her face let a timid smile warm her features.

“It’s the least I could’ve done.” He said sincerely, shooting a tender smile of his own.

His eyes swept between hers before he averted his attention to the railing as he leaned his weight on the wood. The small gesture during the War Council, and how Rhaegal’s token was away from Jon’s forces broke through to the forefront of his mind.

“Daenerys, Grey Worm maneuvered Rhaegal’s marker away from the bulkhead of the Northern forces after I moved it, and returned it to yours.” He paused, before rounding to face her once again, “I don’t mean to overstep, but I felt that Rhaegal would be an instrumental component in our advance south to Kings Landing?”

She turned away to face the courtyard momentarily, letting out a small sigh and turning back. “Truthfully, I’m not sure how strong Rhaegal is in regards to flying right now, let alone carrying a rider. He’s still recovering from the wounds he suffered.” Her voice and eyes cast somberly. He recalls he hasn’t seen the dragon flown since his struggle with his reanimated brother. “I was actually going to check on him now, if you’d like to join?” She offered a smile and her brow and bent up in inquiry.

He straightened himself and pushed eagerly off of the railing, “I’d love to.” He grinned deeply. 

Jon offered his arm, which she graciously took, and he walked them down the walkway and into the courtyard. The two carefully steered the passing throngs, returning nods and glances respectfully to those passing by before they crossed through the gates.

She turned her enchanting eyes to meet his as they continued to walk, “You two have bonded remarkably.” She pronounced as she beamed, “He’s grown quite close to you, you know.” Her pride that her son finally had someone he could connect with was evident through her emanating girlish delight. He couldn’t help but smile at the display.

He parted his lips tentatively, seeking to consider an appropriate reply to being told he had _somehow_ developed a meaningful connection to a _real_ , living, and breathing Dragon. “I -, I know about a _Starks_ bond with a _Direwolf_ , but… a _Targaryen’s_ bond with a _Dragon_?” Jon quipped as he laughed and his brow curled up coyly in acknowledgment.

He couldn’t deny that there _was_ something there, however _._ He felt it deep in his chest. A distinct pining. A spark, a flame; a _yearning_ that was reaching out to him, tethering itself to him much in the same way Ghost had. Where his direwolf’s connection was measured and precise, Rhaegals was wild and carried an immense sense of unadulterated power that he had to wrestle with to not be overwhelmed. He had no doubt it was the beginning of his connection with the gorgeous beast.

The flame flared abruptly for a moment, offended, before simmering down again. 

_Not a beast. Got it._

As the two finally arrived at the dragon's distant resting ground, Daenerys broke her connection to Jon and moved to caress Rhaegal’s snout who rose excitedly at their appearance. Chattering and purring sweetly, Rhaegal lowered himself further as Jon neared and confidently laid his ungloved hand on the side of his head and snout, stroking his scales delicately. The dragon slowly blinked his massive sunset-colored eyes, and beamed his focus on Jon, giving him an affectionate nudge with his powerful head, nearly knocking him off balance.

Daenerys couldn’t help but giggle as Jon struggled with the obstinately playful dragon. Drogon growled tersely off in the distance, no doubt envious of the affection his brother was receiving. Daenerys caressed Rhaegal’s snout one final time before turning her full focus to the needy Dragon. Walking over to him and stroking his massive head, Drogon immediately eased and nestled sweetly against his mother.

_What a momma’s boy._

Jon's chuckled quietly as his heart swelled as he observed the interaction. At least, before it was abruptly blocked by Rhaegal’s enormous head. Jon rolled his eyes as he began scratching the dragon’s neck and chin, drawing out more rumbling purr’s. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

_Just like a big direwolf, he mused._

He stepped out from around Rhaegal and reunited with Daenerys who had just finished up giving Drogon the attention he desired. She whirled to face him and grabbed his hand eagerly and pulled him off to the side.

“Shall we?”

He wordlessly followed her as she led him out from the path of the two dragons. She slyly craned her head gave him an endearing smirk before turning back towards the two dragons who watched her with brimming enthusiasm.

“Alright Rhaegal, let’s see how you do today.” Her grin widened before nodding her head towards Jon, “No pressure, but you have an audience!” Rhaegal turned to face his rider and let out a gentle coo before blowing a gust of hot air onto him. Jon stepped back and scowled from the abrupt change in temperature, groaning mockingly, he waved his arms in front of him to bat away the heat.

He returned the dragon’s taunting gaze. “Enough talk, let’s see what you can do!” He hollered in response. He returned to Daenerys’s side with a charming smirk of his own.

Daenerys’s voice carried beautifully in her High Valyrian, “Rhaegal, Sōvēgen!”

The dragon roared eagerly in response, ready to make his mother proud, and took a few calculated steps back, angling to get a good run-up for takeoff. An instant later, Rhaegal was picking up speed swiftly as he loomed forward and pushed harder with each step. With a great thrust of his legs, the dragon boosted himself off the ground and propelled himself into the air with a slight wobble. Jon saw his tattered wing, but before long Rhaegal began gliding around pompously. Jon took a moment to turn and steal a furtive glance at Daenerys as she proudly gaped at her son flying elegantly through the sky. A bright and open smile lightened up her features. 

“ _Sōvēgen_ ,” Quizzically rolling the word over his tongue a few times, “what does that mean?”

Daenerys couldn’t help but break into a sweet laugh as his Northern accent butchered the otherwise melodic sound of their families ancient language. “Its _Valyrian_. Our family spoke it during the age of dragons. _Sōvēgen_ means, _to fly_.” She shot him an alluring smirk and tilt her brow, “When Rhaegal is well enough, you can practice it with him.”

He stood in awe of the mundane ways she continued to impress him. Mesmerized at the fact that she was perhaps one of the only people left in the world who could impart him about the half of him that he knew so little about.

His bewilderment was distracted as Rhaegal let loose a volley of thunderous roars that echoed from above. _‘Mom, look, I did it!’_ he supposed _._ Jon let out a howl in support. Daenerys even chimed in as well.

They weren’t expecting a sudden gust of air to send the two barreling backward as Drogon, not to be bested by his brother, swiftly launched into the air next to them and ascended quickly to fly alongside Rhaegal with impressive roars of his own.

Daenerys shook her head playfully at her boisterous son and rolled her eyes, “Such a showoff.”

Jon watched as the two dragons banked and turned in unison, splitting the air with perfect grace. _They truly were magnificent._ He turned to Daenerys then, “Looks like Rhaegal is healing gracefully.” His smiled etched across his face with pure delight.

She smiled openly in return, as she moved to squeeze his arm gently. “Come, let us head back, I’m sure there are those waiting on us.”

Jon bit back a frown, sad that the tender moment with the dragons had already come to an end. He instinctually offered his arm to her again, and she wordlessly led the way until they got closer to the castle. Her face contorted in resolute ponderance throughout the entire trek back to the gates. 

With Winterfell now looming a few strides away, he supposed business wasn’t far behind, he turned their conversation to affairs of tomorrow’s departure. “Daenerys, with Rhaegal able to fly once more, what is the schedule we are looking at for our march on King’s Landing on the ‘morrow?”

Daenerys didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, she halted their stride with her arm as her face remained set in deliberation, mouth drawn into a line. Churning carefully about her answer, she finally gazed back up to him. “I was thinking,” She paused earnestly, “The troops, in your experience, how long do you think they would need? To rest and heal?”

Jon looked down at her, surprised. He certainly had not considered the possibility that Daenerys would consider Sansa’s suggestion for a reprieve before departing South. He certainly agreed with her new intention, though. The war was not going to change in a short amount of time. The southern armies have gotten this far North before, he doubted now would be any different. That and the Iron Throne certainly wasn’t going anywhere while she prepared.

He moved to reassure her, “Truthfully, our armies _are_ fatigued, and likely still distraught - over the terrors they faced merely a few nights ago.” She slowly nodded, understandingly, “Even just a _sennight_ of solid rest would do the men well when it comes to their morale, and would be greatly appreciated by all.”

He shot her an encouraging smile as she turned her contemplating gaze to the walls of Winterfell, and to the men shuffling around inside. She cast her eyes down to the dirt momentarily, before meeting his again and offering a modest curl of her lips. “Then we shall march in a sennight then instead. Have the men rest as much as they can before we depart. I will notify the commanders during the War Council in the morning.”

He wanted to support her as best he could and make sure that she knew she was making the right decision. Considering, he could still sense the hesitation in her clipped voice and see trepidation etched into her tightly held frame. He moved to comfortingly squeeze her arm, “The Lannister’s are a southern army, they won’t march on us here, and their fortifications won’t sway in one way or another in such a short time. King’s Landing _will_ fall, and you will be on the Iron Throne soon. It’s only a matter of time.”

Daenerys’ eyes softened as they gazed tenderly into his own, “Thank you, Jon. I trust you, and your counsel deeply.” He shot her a heartwarming smile before his attention was wrought by a shout of his name from the courtyard.

“I’m afraid this is where I will take my leave for now.” He bowed his head, “Will I see you later for supper?” he asked with an upturn of his brow and lips.

“You will.” She beamed.

* * *

Daenerys watched silently as Jon crossed the courtyard and made his way out of sight. She was so elated that he had been connecting so well with Rhaegal, her playful and affectionate son that she always felt guilty for never being able to give the proper full attention to. She knew as much as she would like to spend the whole day with him and the dragons, teaching him about the nature of their family, and the unique bond only they could relate too, Daenerys knew she couldn’t neglect her Queenly responsibilities. Especially not now, as the final orchestrations were aligning to finally seize her life-long goal. Before she could finish her train of thought, the very business she was pondering interrupted her.

Tyrion walked up behind her and made his company known, “Your Grace, I take it the dragons are recovering well?” She rounded to face him, extending a small smile. 

“Yes,” she nodded proudly, “Rhaegal has once again returned to the skies where he belongs.” 

Tyrion’s face bent in pleased meditation as he elevated his hand to stroke his beard, “With both dragons now accounted for, our march for Kings Landing tomorrow will be unimpeded.” He declared resolutely as he motioned forward. She accepted his gesture as the two began shouldering through the through-fare.

Her lips parted for a moment, “Actually, I’ve decided to hold until the end of the week. To allow our troops the chance to rest.” Her words drew a probing look of surprise from Tyrion who turned to face her then.

“This is, … _most,_ unexpected.” He took a moment to stroke his beard again, “Exerting _Sansa’s_ precautions?” He bent his brow and tilted his head in upturned skepticism.

Daenerys smoothly shook her head, “Exercising _Jon’s_ assurances that it would be wise, and an adequate enough amount of time to suit the needs of the men.”

He bowed his head in recognition, “Hm, I see.”

The two then ducked into a doorway leading into the feast hall where Tyrion had to lead them, never one to go too far from where a drink could be had. Several people stirred about their afternoon meal and grew quiet immediately upon her entrance and lifted up. 

“Your Grace.” They replied in unison. Their sudden respect and attentiveness startled her.

Daenerys quickly eased them with a wave of her hand, “Please, don’t let me interrupt your activities.” She finished with a friendly smile. They gave aptly-appreciative nods before their consideration quickly returned to the matters preoccupying them.

Tyrion swiftly reached the table at the head of the hall and gestured for her to take a seat next to him, she appreciated the courtesy and did as he offered. Naturally, he went to the side and gathered two goblets and filled them each with wine, bringing the pitcher with him and setting it next to him. He offered a cup to her, which she politely accepted.

He found his seat then and took a hearty swig before delving into the matter he had meant to discuss. “ _King’s Landing,”_ he started with a jostle of his cup and a shake of his head, “You’ll never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy.” He quirked before starting to drain the contents of his goblet. 

Tyrion set the drink on the table again, hand never leaving its familiar metal rim. However, his voice dawdled soberly with his next utterances, “There is something important you need to know as we finalize our plan to take the city, especially, in consideration of our additional time afforded to us by your decision to delay the march.”

She pressed her goblet inquiringly to her lips and raised her eyebrow at him, imploringly bidding him to continue his train of thought. He took one last gulp of his wine, finishing it, before setting his cup on the table and relinquishing it from his grasp at last.

“The Wildfire.” He stated matter-of-factly.

She set her goblet down promptly. Her mouth drew into a stern line, her shoulders tensed, and her stomach tumbled. Optimistically, - _Daenerys had supposed now_ \- she had assumed after the usurpers had taken control of the city, that they had made efforts to remove the destructive material from their precarious depositions. She sighed as she guessed Tyrion has information to disrupt her slim hope.

_Even from beyond the grave, her father’s terrorizing rule shadowed every move she made._

Daenerys tilted her head up and glanced over to Tyrion, her voice was quiet, “I guess my hope that the Wildfire was taken care of after my father’s murder is vain?”

He reached over and grabbed the pitcher, pouring himself another glass of wine as his lips parsed and he nodded, “My sister, in the time of her reign, has not only ensured the permanence of your fathers stockpiled reserves around the city but actively made sure to _increase_ them.”

Her blood spiked, and her temper flared. Daenerys tightly clenched her fists and pitched her eyes shut as her mind drifted to that insufferable bitch residing in her home. She tensed her jaw, “What can be done about these caches?” She grit, frustration with the matter bubbling at the surface.

Tyrion leaned back in his chair, “It won’t be a permissive obstacle to workaround. The caches are linked in a way so that if one is disturbed without premonition, the rest will light up as well. A... _catalyst,_ if you will. _”_ His voice _,_ trailed soft, dangerous, “No doubt my sister would call it a ‘preventative measure,’ but that’s selling it short of what it is...” He finished and peered deeply into the foreboding crimson red of his goblet. He needn’t finish for Daenerys to understand his inclination.

She slumped in her chair, deflated, and held her forehead in her hand. She drank the rest of wine in her goblet before returning Tyrion’s circumspect gaze, “Would I be fatuous in the belief that you have an idea to deal with this problem?”

Acutely he straightened up and glanced at her assuredly, before nodding. “Ser Davos.”

Feeling a flutter of hope at the moderate upturn of his tone, she straightened as well and rounded to face him. Her brow bent up in silent query as he continued his thoughts.

“Ser Davos already smuggled me into Kings Landing with ease. With the new knowledge that you intend to wait until the end of the week to begin our march, we could send him down _ahead_ of our forces and have him work to dismantle the catalytic triggers.” He began making animated gestures with his fingers as he drew imaginary plans on the table. “We would not be to _fully_ counterpoise the hazard of the Wildfire, _but,_ with luck, if one cache went off, the rest wouldn’t follow.” He finished, almost eagerly.

Daenerys sat wordlessly for a time in contemplation. With a woman like Cersei at the helm, all bets were off. Olenna Tyrell has discussed how the irrefutably Mad Queen had already used Wildfire to level the Sept of Balor, killing her daughter, and thousands of innocent people, as was one of the prominent reasons the elder, calculatingly tactful woman had sought her out for alliance in the first place. However, Daenery assumed that was a one-off occurrence of the potent chemical.

_No, the truth was much more petrifying._

She couldn’t leave anything to chance. The best Daenerys could hope for was that the catalyst operation was hindered, and the caches could be circumvented as best as possible during the siege of King’s Landing.

With a controlled nod, she met Tyrion’s patiently awaiting gaze, “I will speak with this with Lord Snow, I’m sure he will see the prospect of your proposal.” She offered a composed smile, “As do I.”

Tyrion bowed his reverence. “Thank you, Your Grace.” 

The two sat in unperturbed silence for a moment as the late-luncheon crowd began to slowly evanesce. Having had enough of the wine, Daenerys opted for a glass of water and began to sip gingerly, washing the sweet taste out of her mouth. She couldn’t help but sense Tyrion’s curiously studying gaze boring into her from the side. She cocked an inquisitive gaze at him. 

“Something on your mind, Lord Tyrion?” She asked, breaking him from his concentration.

He shifted in his seat, “Just… curious, Your Grace, that’s all.” Not satisfied with that answer at all, Daenerys' gaze remained unwavering on him with prying tenacity. His lips parted, and he passingly deflected his eyes around the room, but he eventually spoke his mind, “If you don’t mind me asking, how are things between you, and… _Lord Snow?”_ His voice trailed knowingly.

Daenerys gave him a penetrating look, “Whatever do you mean, Lord Tyrion?”

He resoundingly shot her a _don’t-play-dumb-with-me_ look, “Your Grace, forgive me, I may have been _drunk off my ass_ , but even a fool wouldn't have been able to miss the dismissive and piercing glances you two shared at the feast the other night, not to mention, how you seemingly stormed out towards the end.”

Her nostrils and cheeks immediately flared with indignation. She couldn’t refute Tyrion of course, but she still found the apparent transparency of her and Jon’s interactions unsettling. Tyrion probed further, “You two have grown quite close in your short acquaintance, one might’ve figured we’d be seeing little of either of you after the end of the Long Night... but, instead -”

“Whatever is your angle, Lord Tyrion?” She furiously fumed, interrupting him with a dangerous glare and searing tone. Her eyes nearly carving holes through him where he sat.

He quickly raised his hands up, placatingly, “As I said, I was just curious. Surely, Your Hand should be kept up to date with all of the Queen’s _relations_ with her _allies_ , and possible _changes…_ with said _allies_.” he lowered his hands to rest atop the table again, twiddling his thumbs, his gazed remained, “Has something _changed_ with our _ally_ , that I should know about... as your _advisor_?”

Daenerys face drew into a line as she turned her face away and shut her eyes. She tempered her frustration before resettling her gaze and facing front towards the nearly empty hall, “ _Nothing_ has changed, my Loyal Hand.” She assured with steely conviction, almost grinding her teeth as she spoke, before potently meeting his eyes again.

Tyrion’s gaze remained unwaveringly for a brief moment, unconvinced. He parsed his lips once more and sighed, resigning himself that he wouldn’t be getting the information he desired. He swished his goblet around, peering at the last remaining swig of liquor lingering at the bottom of the glass before downing it. He immediately settled his cup back on the table before swiftly pushing out his chair and standing.

“I believe it is time for me to speak with my brother as to further possibilities regarding the defenses of King’s Landing.” Tyrion bowed cordially, “Thank you for your presence, Your Grace.” Daenerys raised her glass to him and bid him farewell. 

After Her Hand had exited the hall, Daenerys briskly arose and smoothed out her dress. Her mind was scrambling over the conversation on repeat, initially churning over the further revelation of the Wildfire, before turning to Tyrion’s piqued interest on her and Jon and his acute awareness that something was amiss, … and then over it again. She felt a bit of anxiety form in her stomach, so she quickly moved around the head table and made her own leave.

As she exited the hall, Daenerys took the momentary time alone to wander the halls of the expansive and imposing castle, intriguingly. She began to commit the winding halls and offset passages to memory before she slowed and stood before a small, ancient-looking, gate. Just beyond its barrier, she could catch glimpses of vivid and vibrant leaves scattering in the wind through the sheer and broadly space bars of the entrance. Dotted with sparking and glistening frozen ponds, what she saw astonished her and sent her mouth agape.

Daenerys quickly glanced around her, ensuring her solitary propinquity, before carefully edging the gate open and entering the winterized oasis.

* * *

Daenerys’ slow strides softly disturbed the otherwise pristine white blanket that covered the wintertime sanctuary. She found herself awestruck, her mouth hung open as she took in the breathtaking surroundings. Crimson leaves interrupted the fallen snows flawless complexity, like stars gleaming brightly through an otherworldly canvas on a cloudless night.

Leisurely, Daenerys strode to the center of the holy site and stood in front of the eccentric tree she had never perceived before. _A Weirwood_. She silently conferred to herself. She gazed upon it’s carved faces and took in its powerful presence. It’s thick frame beckoned upwards towards the sky. She felt deep, resonating waves crash into her, emanating from the tree – the heart of the Godswood - like a steady pulse. There was magic here, no doubt about that.

She was drawn from her ponderings by an unexpected voice behind her, “When I was a young girl, I used to run around these forests. I’d hold out my arms and pretend I was _Visenya Targaryen_ flying atop her mighty dragon.”

Startled by the unannounced company, Daenerys spun around as her eyes landed on Arya. Her eyes immediately fixated on her own. She quickly felt uncomfortable under the scrutinizing and piercing stare.

“Now, a _real_ Targaryen stands before me in the same forest, with her own _real_ dragons.” Arya paused before edging closer, “She stands poised to take control of the Seven Kingdoms, all with my brothers _devoted_ support, no less.” Another step closer.

Daenerys remained still and observant but couldn’t help feeling her chest constrict as the air became choking around her with tautness she vowed she could cleave with a sword. Daenerys offered a placating curl of her lips. Arya finally stepped alongside her then, before she deflected her gaze to the massive tree in front of them. 

Daenerys quickly straightened, turning her attention forward as well. “Jon has talked very fondly of you. He said you were the only one who treated him like family while he was growing up.”

“He’s part of my pack.” Arya said coldly, she turned to look to Daenerys then with a firm glare, “The pack looks after their _own_.”

Daenerys forced herself not to wince at the pinning undertones of her words. Instead, she chose to let a smile creep across her face, “I think he’s been beginning to understand that. Albeit slowly, he is quite stubborn after all.” She chuffed lightly and gave Arya a sympathetic gaze.

Arya’s face grew into a restrained grin, “That’s something both of us can agree on.”

The girl continued her intense focus on the Weirwood, allowing a beat of terse taciturnity to manifest between them before continuing. “Why did you save him?” Arya asked softly, voice much quieter now, pensive, as she slowly rounded to face her, “Why risk your dragons?”

Daenerys held her gentle gaze on Arya for a time before turning away. _Because I love him._ She wants to admit. The sight of Jon falling through the ice - his call for her to leave knowing he wasn’t going to survive but selflessly protecting her anyway - sent shivers down her spine. Daenerys knew she would never forget the hopelessness she felt glancing over her shoulder as she flew away, praying to catch a glimpse of his form emerging from the unimaginable freezing depths. _To see_ _some sign, any sign of hope, that he was alive. That he would return to her._ She shuddered and pushed the thought away before coming to an acceptable response.

“Jon risked his life to travel north of the wall to get the support he needed to save his people.” She turned back to Arya, “What type of Queen would I be if I wasn’t willing to risk my own to do the same?”

Arya returned an earnest gaze as she began musing over this for some time. Her face gradually slackened slightly from its tight mask, seemingly appeased with what she heard. Silence once again draped over them like the tenderly falling snow. 

Arya began picking at her gloved hands, apprehensively, “All his life, … Jon has never been the type of person to place his trust in _anyone_.” She breathed as she delicately met Daenerys' gaze once more, “The fact that he has placed his faith in _you_ gives me reason enough to at _least_ give you a chance.” Arya bowed her head. “A chance I realize I hadn’t given you before coming to my own conclusions, and I apologize for that.”

Daenerys swayed back from the abrupt change in the young woman’s tone and demeanor. She swiftly met and peered into Arya’s eyes again and noticed their softer edge. Still withstanding their piercing resolvedness, but now lacking the coldness that had inhibited them from encounters prior. In truth, She instinctually felt not to trust it initially, but she couldn’t bring herself to push away this chance at an olive branch.

Daenerys gave her a modest smile, “It’s not my place to forgive. I do not hail from the North, I can understand your reservation. Especially, considering what _my family_ did to yours...”

“No,” Arya shook her head vehemently at that, “not after what _you_ did. You didn’t have to save Jon, but you _did_. You didn’t have to come North, but you _did_.” Daenerys lips parted in earnest disbelief at her words, but Arya continued.

“The North _Remembers_.” Arya stated simply, as she nodded her head, “ _I,_ will remember.”

Daenerys struggled to find the appropriate words. She felt deeply moved at the younger Stark’s words and wanted to appear as humble as possible to appease Arya’s pride. She glanced around to observe the forest surrounding them, “This is where it happened, was it not? Right where we stand?”

Arya's face broke out into a grin once again, this time, much less reserved. Motioning to the dagger attached to her hip, she pulled it from its sheath and twirled it in her hands before offering it to Daenerys to hold. She hesitated for only a brief moment before grasping it delicately, making sure not to seem unappreciative, as she began thoughtfully examining it.

It was a fine blade, Valyrian steel, with a dragonbone hilt and studded with a twinkling Ruby. Light and nimble, she found she could maneuver it with ease as she swished it through the air before flipping it over, grasping the blade carefully, and offering it back to its owner.

Arya spoke quietly as she returned the now-famed weapon to her side, “Without you and your armies, I never would’ve got the opening.”

Daenerys gave her a warming and genuine look of thankfulness for her acknowledgment. If not for her, at least for those who accompanied her and laid down their lives so that they, and all others, may live. It was all she desired in return for her turning her efforts North. 

_Gratefulness._

She sighed sincerely, shoulders relaxing, and her breath coming more relaxed now. The recognition easing a part she longed for. Daenerys rounded to face front again, “So, where do we go from here?”

Arya pulled her cloak around her side to cover her sheath after settling it, before stating coolly, “I will be traveling for King’s Landing tomorrow.”

Daenerys whipped around, not quite sure if she heard her correctly, “ _Oh_?”

“I’m going to kill Cersei,” Arya shrugged casually.

While Daenerys couldn’t say the girl lacked courage, her lips parted in protest.

The steely firmness has once returned in full as Arya stared daringly back at her, “I’m _not_ asking permission.” Daenerys bit her tongue, knowing she would not be able to dissuade Jon’s determined little sister. Instead, she chose to conciliate another option.

“Then, at least, do not travel alone.” She gave Arya an entreating gaze, “Ser Davos is to leave on the ‘morrow for Kings Landing, travel with him. If not for my sake, do it for Jon’s.”

Arya looked fleetingly between her eyes, mouth twitching to argue, but instead, she found herself silent. After a moment, she merely nodded. “I have a few others who can accompany us as well.”

Daenerys wasn’t particularly aware of who Arya was referring to explicitly, but she signaled her approval either way. “You do understand that our forces won’t be there to support you for some time?” She probed.

Arya gave an indifferent shrug, “I won’t need an army.”

Daenerys raised her brow slightly at her provocation. “Then _how_ do you plan on reaching Cersei?” She investigated further.

Arya broke their gaze and faced forward again. “We’ve all been through our own horrors. Seen things, endured things.” Her voice trailed cold. “Trust me, that won’t be a problem.”

Daenerys swallowed thickly and granted Arya her secrets. _Honestly, she felt it better she rather not know._ A period of silence fell among them again. The snow fell gently around them as it repaired the immaculate sheen they disrupted with their earlier steps. Time passed slowly as two stood simply in the presence of each other. 

Arya’s voice abruptly broke the tranquil interlude. “Can I meet them?”

_For brief moment Daenerys thought of asking whom she meant, but she knew._

Her lips twisted into a wide grin, “I’d love to introduce you to them before you depart tomorrow.”

Since their brief acquaintance at Winterfell, Daenerys watched as Arya’s face broke out into the first display of excitement she’d ever seen. It uplifted her face, and Daenerys returned her thrilled smile.

Daenerys, very tentatively, placed her hand gently on Arya’s arm, giving it a considerate squeeze, “Thank you for coming to speak to me, Arya. It’s meant a great deal.”

Arya beamed brightly back at her then, “I’m glad I came, Your Grace, even more so to have my premeditations proven wrong.” She gave a modest bow of her head before departing.

After she left, Daenerys found herself alone again. She shrugged off a few snowflakes which had found themselves on her dress before making her exit and bidding farewell to the winter refuge, and more importantly, to the tension that had once existed so suffocatingly between her and Jon’s little sister. After their brief conversation, she dared to surmise she felt the beginnings of respect budding in its wake. 

A warm smile etched itself on her face.

* * *

The soothing orange haze of the lowering sun, coupled with her own’s stomachs growls alerted Daenerys that is was time for dinner. She edged herself excitedly through the castle hallways with a heightened familiarity. The winding pathways now an accustomed trek in her mind. 

In no time she slid her way into the feast hall and found Jon already eagerly waiting for her at the head table, a far cry from the tumultuous presentation from yesternight. He stood immediately as his gaze joined hers, the others lords and members of the hall soon followed. She waved them off and made her way keenly to Jon’s side.

“ _Your Grace_.” He bowed his head respectfully and pulled her chair out for her as she rounded the table, a small gesture she couldn’t ignore, it made her features soften as she shot him a shy smile.

As she took her seat, a server came and laid a dish before her; an assortment of freshly prepared greens and a hearty portion of meat and chopped potatoes. She bowed her head thankfully as she grabbed the wine pitcher and began filling her goblet before moving to Jon’s. His head inclined appreciatively as she spoke.

“How has your day fared, _Lord Snow_?” Jon snidely rolled his eyes as she dragged out the pleasantries. He craned his neck to see they were alone at the head table and lowered his voice.

“Very well, thank you. How about you, Dany?”

Daenerys settled comfortably into her seat and swallowed down her bite of food, washing it down with a gulp of wine before she answered simply. “Eventful.” Jon raised his eyebrows curiously at her incitement.

She set her cup down and dabbed her mouth before continuing, “Tyrion proposed a solution to some complications regarding Kings Landing that I need to speak to you about.”

… _and_ ,” She started playfully as she rounded to face him, biting back a grin, “Arya came to speak with me.”

Jon practically choked on his wine, coughing and sputtering, struggling to balance his teetering cup as he grabbed the towelette and dabbed his mouth. “Do I _still have_ a sister?” 

His voice returned her lacey playfulness, but a stirring gaze amidst his beady eyes betrayed his inward anxiety. Not forgetting their conversation from the previous night.

She feigned indignation, “ _Jon Snow_ ,” she rolled her eyes teasingly away from him, “I’ll have you know it was a rather, _fruitful,_ conversation.”

His shoulders lowered as he rested himself comfortably against the back of his chair once more. He let his eyes drift to hers as his brow raised in substantial interest, “Is that so?”

“Quite.” Her quipped before she moved to hide lips behind her drink, “I even offered for her to _meet the dragons._ ”

“You what?!” His voice crept louder than he intended, catching a few diners unawares.

His face rocked with incredulity as he quickly set his goblet on the table, so it didn’t topple from his grasp and cause him to nearly keel over again. He quickly turned from the hall of people in front of him as he covered his utterly stupefied face with a palm pressing into the side of his face, shielding the broad grin he battled to withhold from view from the others.

Daenerys continued to drink uninterrupted from her goblet in an attempt to mask her own wide smirk that had stretched itself across her face as she teasingly eluded his eyes. He slumped back in his chair, shaking his head. A coy smile crossed his lips for her to see then, almost indistinguishably hidden in the ruff of his beard.

“What have you done,” Jon laughed as he rested his head on his palm, “All she talked about growing up was _Visenya Targaryen_ and her dragons. Do you know how elated she is going to be when she actually gets to meet a _real_ _dragon_? Rhaegal is just now finishing healing! I’m scared she’ll break him in half attempting to hug him so fiercely.”

It was her turn to laugh, and she struggled to keep the wine from spilling from her lips. She quickly grabbed the towelette on the table and dabbed her mouth, cursing Jon for his untimely bout of humor.

“It’s the least I can do, she did kill the Night King after all.” She turned to meet his resigned gaze, offering a light chuckle as she did so, “I plan to take her after the War Council meeting tomorrow if you’d like to join?”

Jon nodded and raised his goblet, “Aye, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Daenerys smirked and raised her glass as well before they both took modest sips and returned to take passes at their food. She leisurely finished her delightful meal before folding her hands in front of her, not wanting to have to sour the mood and tell him the rest of the contents of their meeting, but she knew she must. Even if she knew he wasn’t going to like it. She breathed resignedly.

“Arya intends to leave for Kings Landing tomorrow.” She stated simply, getting it out in the air as plainly as possible. The mood instantly shifted from the light-hearted humor of moments prior, to solemn actuality as the gravity of reality came crashing back to them.

Jon poured himself another glass of wine and remained silent for a time. His gaze remained fixated on the far wall, his voice pensive when he finally spoke, “I don’t suppose she told you what she plans to _do_ in Kings Landing?”

Daenerys breathed out slowly, “She plans to kill Cersei.”

“ _Kill_ _Cersei_?” His hushed voice grew strained as he turned and looked to her, “She didn’t _also_ clue you into how she planned to do that too did she?”

She shook her head and averted her gaze down to the contents of her cup, “She did not.”

Jon kneaded his eyes with his fingers, wistfully trying to coax the reservations that batted his mind. “Do you think I can convince her not to go?”

“I don’t.” This, she was sure of.

He lamented as he exhaled slowly and his shoulders fell. Daenerys reached her hand out reflexively and laid it over top of the one he had rested on the table. Gently, she rolled her thumb over the back of his hand as she coaxed assuredness into him.

“She’s a fighter, Jon. You shouldn’t have to worry about her. If anyone can make it through Kings Landing, it’ll be her. Besides, she’ll be traveling with Ser Davos.” She offered a soft squeeze as she carefully retracted her hand before anyone could get an ascertaining glance.

Jon turned to her perplexed then, “Davos? Why would Ser Davos be traveling to Kings Landing with her?”

She retook her goblet. “Davos is an experienced smuggler, is he not?”

He nodded his confirmation, “He is.”

“So, not only can Davos get her safely into Kings Landing, but he can also work to dismantle the Wildfire stockpiles underneath the city.” Daenerys laid the newfound information on him, offering a sympathetic look as he gazed concerningly back at her.

Jon groaned and leaned back into his chair before downing the rest of his goblet, pouring himself another, and resigning himself that he had a lot to be caught upon. He twisted in his chair, faced her fully, and met her gaze once more.

He gestured politely with his hand, “Continue.”

Daenerys signed and set her own goblet down as she rounded him fully, “Tyrion has informed me Cersei plans to weaponize deposits of Wildfire she has placed underneath the city. If we attacked without treating them, no doubt, the entire city would get destroyed.” 

His face went ghastly pale as he silently combed through the information he received. He leaned forward and braced his elbows onto the table as Daenerys continued, “Since Ser Davos is already familiar with the tunnel systems of Kings Landing, he is the prime candidate to infiltrate, and dismantle, as many of the depositions as he can before our armies arrive.”

Jon’s focus returned to the far wall as he silently mulled over everything he had heard. He stroked his beard before he slowly leaned back into his chair as the color returned to his face. 

“Alright,” he nodded as he turned to face her again, “then I’ll waste no time speaking to Ser Davos right away. If what you say is true, then time is of the essence.”

Daenerys briefly took a moment to admire the determination she sees in his steely eyes as he rose out of his seat. She quickly mimicked him as they shared one last exchange for the night.

She tilted her drink to him, “I shall see you tomorrow, _Lord Snow_.”

“Indeed you shall, _Your Grace_.” He raised his goblet to her reverently before he lowered his voice so only she could hear, giving her a warm smile,

“Goodnight, Dany.”

She shot a tender gaze and endearing smile back, “Goodnight, Jon.” He bowed and made his exit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, a lot going on and lots of slow-grinding parts in this chapter. Thanks for bearing through some of the canon conversations towards the start. While my story will be branching off, as you can already see well exemplified in this chapter, some things I'll keep as they are good for grounding the reader. 
> 
> Thanks for taking the time to read my ramblings again, you all are the best and I love you dearly. ~U


	3. W(hole)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A prophetic dream, and The Last of the Targaryens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I shed tears for polar opposite reasons while writing this chapter, I apologize in advance. I guarantee you the rollercoaster smoothens out after the first drop, bear with me. 
> 
> Thanks for all the amazing comments on the last chapter, every word you all send my way means the world to me. Love you all, ~U

* * *

_It began the same way it did the past couple of nights._

_Daenerys slashed, stabbed, cleaved, swung, and flailed, but they did not relent. They just keep coming. Her ribs throbbed, and her back flared with sharp pain, no doubt from the fall off of the dragon. Blood drenched her dress, coloring it from the silvery-white cloak to a dark crimson red, a blend of her own amongst others, no doubt._

_She wheezed wearily as another wight dashed at her, fatigue clutched her strenuously, she knew she couldn’t hold this up for long. Lunging forward, she brought her sword down laboriously across the dead man’s chest, splitting it in two. Daenerys crumpled to her knee, breaths coming shallow and toiled. She arched her head up in time to catch another wight closing the distance and fast. Daenerys propelled herself up with whatever energy she had left, trembling violently as she did so. She urged the sword up, but her arms failed her. Her body struggling, she recognized she wasn’t going to be able to get it leveled in time to shield against the blade barreling right for her._

_“Khaleesi, behind me!”_

_Jorah’s firm hand shoved her out of the way, but not before the dead man’s dagger plunged into his side. He let out an enervated cry as Daenerys mustered her strength and thrust her sword into the head of Jorah’s attacker, causing the wight to crumble. But they did not yield. Another wave came immediately as her legs and arms began to shake frenziedly, but Jorah would not let them touch her. He weaved in front of another angling sword and caught another blow across his chest, causing a river of blood to seep from his armor._

_This would not be the end of Daenerys Targaryen. This would not be the end of the Dragon. She came from Fire and Blood, and she would make sure the dead would drown in it with all her might. Daenerys roared as she disregarded her body's screams of remonstrance and slew Jorah’s oppressor once more, and once more, he arose, steadying himself with his sword as he did so._

_Breathes slaved, Jorah stood stoically, set to face down whatever the dead would dare drive next at the Mother of Dragons. As the dead and their clambering armaments came nearer and nearer, suddenly, they stopped and crumpled to the ground._

_Stunned and breathless, Daenerys swiftly looked around and saw them, disintegrating row by row for as far as she could see. She let out a pitiful exhalation and turned to her faithful protector, the one who had saved from on death more times than she could remember._

_Her bear._

_“Jorah, we-”_

_She was abruptly interrupted as he collapsed to the ground dejectedly. Only able to stand with the adrenaline and fortitude that flowed through him in order to see his Khaleesi safe. With the threat satiated, he was spent._

_“Jorah!”_

_Daenerys rushed to his side and ran her arm under his back, angling him so she could see his face as he peered at her. His face was filthy, bruised, and bloodied. Carefully she rested her other arm across his breastplate, tenderly examining his egregious wounds. The sight of the multiple lacerations and stabs caused her to shudder and tears to pour from puffy eyes._

_“No…” was the only thing she could muster as she violently shook her head and reiterated it over and over, begging, wishing that the words themselves might heal his wounds._

_Jorah looked up at her then, meeting her weeping gaze, his trembling lips parted to say something. Daenerys brought her hand up to his face and held his cheek as his gaze gradually diminished, and his focus became distant. His breathing ceased and left her drenched in inconceivable silence, broken up only by the sound of her wails._

_Daenerys sat there, cradling Jorah for a time before the absolute and conspicuous silence around them broke her from her stupor. Observing around, she saw not a single soul; no movement, no trace of life, no bodies anywhere to be found._

_What is happening? She thought._

_She cast her attention back to Jorah but found his body had vanished, leaving ash in his wake in her gloved hands. She suddenly shot up and recoiled in terror. In the distance, an infant's cry broke her momentary perplexity. Her hands began violently tremoring as she found her feet deliberately guiding herself to the source of the unsolicited sound._

_Trepidatiously, she walked through the gates of Winterfell as the sound of the babes cries intensified. As she crossed through the threshold of the entrance, however, it ceased, and a thick smoke enveloped her entirely. She coughed and gagged and waved her hand in front of her in a futile attempt to offer herself a small reprieve from the besieging and choking smolder._

_As her eyes cleared and refocused, she found herself no longer in Winterfell. No, instead, she found herself in Kings Landing. The city streets were crumbled and destroyed, fires raged from the windows, and the desolate streets were filled with naught, but the swirling of ash as a chilled and whispering wind rustled past her. Wistfully she continued along the path that leads up to the place of her quest, her dreams, the home of her ancestry, the Red Keep._

_Carefully Daenerys laid her hand upon the door to the throne room and left it there, hesitantly. She breathed intensely before driving the doors wide open. As she gradually entered the room, she could make out several bodies lining the floor, all laid up until where the Throne itself sat, where two figures stood, bathed in total blackness, she was unable to make out who they were._

_The Throne room was in ruins. Large sections of the exterior walls had been blasted away, and the light attempting to shine in was dimmed and clouded by the choking ash that continuously floated in. It’s layering presence coated the room in an immaculate grayish-white sheen. If it weren’t for the gruesome scene laid before her, she might have thought it looked beautiful in a haunting way._

_As Daenerys edged slowly into the room, the bodies along the floor that were shrouded in absolute darkness came into view, and one by one, their veil dropped and revealed those faces underneath. As she waded amongst them, their forms faded , and one by one, they drifted away as ash._

_Viserys._

_Her brother's body appeared first, just as she saw him last, golden crown and all. As she neared, his voice manifested in her mind, permeating and resonating through her being unsettlingly. She bit back a sob as she turned her head away at the recollection of her late brother, the family Daenerys thought she could rely on. The family that sold her away. She stepped around him and moved further into the room towards the next manifestation._

_Ser Barristan._

_Her loyal knight. His chest was riddled several stab wounds. She felt a pit of sorrow that she did not get to better indulge herself in the wealth of information the man possessed, as well as not verbalizing her gratitude for his wise counsel before he was untimely taken away from her. She bowed her heard in cordial respect for a brief moment. The next figure awaited as she continued forward._

_Ser Jorah._

_Her throat constricted as her form shook. Jorah was precisely as she saw him moments ago in her recollection. Battered, bloodied. She couldn’t stand to see him like this. Her tears welled in her eyes unbidden as she laid her hand, comfortingly on her protector’s armor once final time. She willed him a short moment of silence as she slowly stood and moved around him before her heart shattered into pieces._

_Missandei._

_Daenery’s face broke out from the dam she had been forcing out, and tears flowed uncontrollably down her face. Her head tremored as she shook it from side-to-side as she observed the cut across the woman’s throat. Daenerys knelt down shakily and closed the woman’s eyes so that she may be at peace, and grasped her hand, giving it a tight squeeze. She stooped for an extended time before she willed up enough courage to continue her agonizing and torturous stride._

_Lord Varys._

_Daenerys could only gather hints of information as to the man’s identity as he appeared charred and burned. Her heart sank at sight. Her ambiguous advisor deserved a fate better than the one befallen in front of her. She walked carefully around him and stepped forward to the only remaining figure clouded in darkness before the two standing in front of the Iron Throne._

_Lord Tyrion._

_Her loyal hand, her heart racked at sight. He appeared to be resting peacefully until further inspection revealed the faint trails of blood coming from his nose and mouth. Poison she surmised. Daenerys knelt and grasped her advisor’s held delicately and closed his eyes. She gave him a respectful moment of silence before slowly coming up from her knees and finally closing the last distance to the Iron Throne._

_As she neared the two figures, still standing residually in the blanket of darkness, the one in the back forcefully pushed the one in front forward, exposing them to the light as they collapsed to their knees._

_Daenerys shook her head violently, her hands tremored frantically as her legs threatened to give out, and her heart deadened at the sight of the man in chains in front of her._

_Jon._

_His face was taunted from lack of sleep, his figure thinner than before, and his unfurled curls curtained his bloodied face. Daenerys’ eyes burned, but that didn’t stop the overflow of tears from flooding from her eyes as she left out an audible cry and began to weep. His body was littered with wounds, and he had a bloody bandage around his shoulder over an unkempt injury._

_“Jon?”_

_“Dany?” His voice was raspy and weak, barely above a whisper, “You’re alive?”_

_She looked at him stunned, her eyes peered into his obsidian orbs but found no comfort in the emptiness that resounded in them. She quickly knelt down with him and held his face in her hands tenderly, wiping away some of the grit and grime as she did so. Tears continued to flow freely from her glassy eyes._

_“Yes, my love, I’m here. I’m here.” She reiterated, hoping to catch a glimpse of recognition in his eyes, warmth, …anything. They remained frozen and desolate._

_Her tears continued to trail down her cheeks as she gently inched forward into him, capturing his lips with hers, softly molding them together. She tried to infuse her passion into him, to pour some semblance of life into the impassive husk that sat before her. She slowly broke away from his lips and gazed back into his eyes. They appeared more detached than before, staring at something far off in the distance._

_“Jon?” She croaked out as she rocked him in her arms, desperation now choking her insides as her heart turned to lead and sank in her chest._

_His eyes fluttered for a moment before finally settling on hers, she could see the life scantily return to them as they looked upon her face. He was coming back. Her Jon. She let out a weak sob, and her face broke out into a smile as he brought his bound hands up to caress her face._

_Just as she lent warmly into the touch, the second figure stepped forward, and Jon’s form shook violently. She heard him cough caustically as his hands dropped from her face._

_“Jon?!” voice more urgent this time, concerned._

_His face morphed into a tight grimace as his eyes darted between hers, blood began trickling from his lips and nose._

_“Jon!” Eyes wide with panic, her hands raced to hold him as he fell into her embrace._

_He struggled to breathe, each breath more arduous than the last. Mustering all his strength, Jon raised his hands to stroke her face again as he ran his thumb along her cheek, tears wetting his eyes. He writhed to get his words out, as each moment, the light drained further and further from him. She clutched him tightly, so he was only a breath away._

_“I -, I love you, Dany. I’m -, I’m... sorry.” Jon’s voice trailed softer until it faded into silence._

_The corner of his lips graced her as they slowly formed a weak smile before his gaze went blank, and his body went limp. Daenerys screamed and pressed his lifeless form up to her and nestled her face in the familiar home she cherished in the crook of his neck as she wept irrepressibly._

_Rocking him hysterically, she called his name over and over, coaxing him to come back to her. "_ _Jon, Please. Please don’t leave me all alone. Not again. Please, Jon, I love you. I love you so much!"_

_Still gently swaying Jon in her arms, she brought her eyes up to the last figure above her, still shrouded in darkness. As if her attention beckoned them to move, the figure stepped slowly forward and crept into focus as Jon’s body gradually transformed into ash and began blowing away, leaving her hands vacant like the chasm splitting her throbbing heart._

_Cersei Lannister materialized, cleaning and wiping the bloodied dagger she plunged into Jon’s back. Daenerys’ wrath raged within her. She could feel the fury and the intensity coursing through her every being. The dragon had awoken. She deliberately rose from where she held Jon and rounded to face the devil in the flesh._

_Although her face was plastered with anguish and fresh tears, her body aching from trembling, her voice carried unbending and powerful. Resolve that rivaled that even of the obstinacy of Valyrian Steel. Sharp as any sword, scorching as Dragonfire._

_“I will burn you, and everything you hold dear, to the ground. I am Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the Blood of Old Valyria, and I will rain death from the heavens and bathe you in Fire and Blood! You and your legacy will melt away as ash adrift in the wind! Do you understand me? DO YOU?” Daenerys cried as loud as she could. _

_Cersei stood unperturbed before breaking into a hearty laugh. A laugh so hard that tears began to fall from her face._

_Unsatiable ferocity consumed Daenerys as she ground her teeth and roared as loud as Drogon, lunging forward to seize the dagger from the devil's hand, but instead, she found herself falling through to complete darkness. As she fell weightlessly through the void, she stared back up at the hole of light above where she had fallen through. Cersei stood above watching, laughing, before eventually ceasing to speak as the tunnel began to close._

_“Queen of the Ashes.”_

_The hole of the void sealed, blocking any light and leaving her falling, ceaselessly, bathed in eternal darkness._

* * *

Light suddenly flooded her vision as Daenerys shot upright from her bed in a cold sweat. She quickly flexed her damp hands as they made their way to her eyes, moist with fallen and ushered tears. Her routine bout of nausea quickly overcame her senses as she grabbed a bucket and heaved. Pouring herself a cup of water, she quickly washed the foul taste out of her mouth before setting back on the bed and bringing her knees up to her chest and hugging her arms tightly around herself. Slowly she took the time to let her eyes wander to the window of the room and observed the faint amber haze beginning to coax its way through the shutters.

_Morning is just beginning._

In no rush to get up, she continued to hold herself for an extended moment as she calmed herself from the night terrors. Practicing some breathing exercises she learned back in Essos, she quickly reigned herself in and gathered the strength to push off the bed and began tossing around ideas of what to do with her early start and the extra time she had from her premature wake.

 _The crypts._ Daenerys decided. _I can pay my proper respects now._

The corner of her lips curled up at the consideration as she glided to the door in her night robe and hailed the Unsullied guard standing outside.

“Send for Missandei, tell her I’m ready to prepare for the day.”

The man nodded wordlessly and went to fetch the handmaiden. She closed the door again as she walked back into her solar and looked upon herself in the looking glass. Her hair was down and messy, and her eyes were still glassy from the horror of her sleep. Trying her best to lessen their appearance, she was disturbed by a knock on the door.

“Your Grace, you are ready to begin the day?” Missandei’s sweet voice rang from outside, albeit slightly drowsily from the unusually earlier hour.

“Yes, please do come in.”

Missandei stepped inside and closed the door behind her and met Daenerys in the solar. As she approached, she slowed her stride and looked concerningly upon her face.

“Your Grace, is everything okay? What happened?” Closing the distance, she put her hand on Daenerys’ arm and gave it a light squeeze.

Daenerys sniffled slightly as she held her handmaiden's arm and gave her own bout of reassurance.

“I’m okay, just a night terror.” She offered weakly, “I’ll be fine.”

Missandei gave her an understanding nod as the two moved over to the chair in front of the looking glass. A moment of silence hung between them as Missandei began braiding her hair into the intricate pattern for the day. Their eyes met in the reflection briefly.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Missandei asked respectfully.

Daenerys took a deep sigh and recalled the horrifying chimera silently to herself, the terror she felt, the dread, the convalescence. The faces of all the ones she loved and cared about dead or dying before her as they turned to ash and drifted away. She reflected on the sight of Jon in chains, his gaunt and haunted form. She shuddered as she pondered what Cersei would have to put him through for him to turn into that empty shell, even if it was just a night terror.

“No, I-,“ Her throat seized, and her breath caught at the thought, ”I think I’d instead just try and forget.”

Missandei simply nodded and continued wordlessly braiding Daenerys' hair, choosing to honor her wishes. Her nimble fingers waded their way effortlessly through Daenerys’ hair. It felt soothing. The way her nails coaxed her scalp immediately sedated her into a state of bliss. She absolutely loved when her hair was being spoiled with attention. She closed her eyes and nestled under the touch as she let the worries of sleep fade away before she returned to their conversation.

“We haven’t had much time to speak recently, I apologize. How are you faring in this dreary Northern weather?” Daenerys spoke up with a lighter tone as her braids began to settle in.

“It’s cold, that should go without saying. It’s also… beautiful, breathtaking even, in its own way.” Missandei offered sweetly as another set of braids was finished.

Daenerys gave her a warming smile. Nothing could compare to the luxurious cities of Essos. All with its monolithic pyramids and luxurious estates. However, one can’t take easily forget the despicable statutes and inhuman conditions of which they were made, unfortunately. She sighed.

“It is special, isn’t it?” Daenerys’ smile then dampened slightly, “What do you think of the people?”

It was no hidden secret the way the North felt about their latest wards, spiteful looks and harsh whispers seemed to trail her everywhere she went. That isn’t to say the North hasn’t warmed – literally and figuratively - now that the Long Night has come to an end and the Targaryen did indeed uphold her promise. In fact, since the destruction of the Night King, she admired more smiles and nods than she ever did before. It wasn’t much, but it _was_ an improvement. Missandei confirmed her feelings.

“I _have_ seen more respect since the end of the Long Night.” Her lips and brow arched playfully, “Dare I even say, _gratefulness_?”

The two shared a quaint giggle before Missandei helped Daenerys to her feet and ushered her to her wardrobe. She began to rummage through the dresses as Daenerys stood eagerly nearby. After a time, she pulled a winter gray dress that was lined with crimson highlights as well as a maroon scarf. She helped Daenerys take off her nightgown before helping her finish dressing.

“Your Grace, if you don’t mind me asking… How are things between you and… the King in the North?” Her voice was tentative and reserving inclination.

Daenerys felt like the topic might come up, but truthfully she was still woefully unprepared. 

“He, -” She paused after starting, noting that Missandei doesn’t know about Jon’s true parentage and the ramifications of said revelation.

Nor anyone else does for that matter, aside from Samwell Tarly and Bran. A fact that Daenerys would never be able to express the amount of gratitude she held for Jon, and his understanding and restraint towards the matter. At least for the present time, while they work through this, together, first. She decides to answer honestly.

_Sort of._

“He… needs time. Time to process things now that the Long Night is over. His whole life had shaped him for what he felt was his one purpose, and now that that has _changed_ , everything feels… in freefall for him.”

“I see.” Missandei looked at her thoughtfully for a moment, processing the information before returning a response. “Well, I’m sure he very much appreciates your support in these trying times.” Daenerys gently took Missandei’s hands in hers and offered her a courtly smile. 

_I hope so._

With the dress on, Daenerys took the maroon scarf from Missandei’s hand and wrapped it around the base of her neck, a beautiful accent to the deep-red highlights of her dress. The two slowly made their way for the door and Daenerys gripped her friends arm sweetly before they took their steps out for the day.

“Thank you for your help this morning, I know it’s a little earlier than usual.”

Missandei clasped her arm gently back, returning a sweet a smile and a warmhearted gaze, “Of course, Your Grace. You know I’m always available for whatever you need.”

Daenerys brought her arms around her friend and embraced her tightly before nodding her farewell as they stepped out.

* * *

The bitter cold immediately found its way to her as her cheeks reddened. She clenched her fists and hiked her shoulders in response to the unbidden chill. She began moving from her quarters to the courtyard, offering sympathetic nods to those she crosses paths with across the way. Refreshed by the kinder gazes in some Northerner's eyes as she passes.

As she stepped into the courtyard, she shifted her way through the throng of people to the florist who was still set up to allow families their chance to embellish their loved ones in the Pyres. She instantly motioned for a gorgeous bouquet of sky-blue Winter Roses that was nestled to the side of the cart.

“May I?”

The florist seemed dumbfounded, “Of course, Your Grace!”

Daenerys sent the man a generous smile and nod before picking up the elegant bouquet and heading back to the courtyard and making her way down into the Winterfell crypts.

The stale air assaulted her nostrils immediately. She had been down to the crypts before, but nothing would ever make the atmosphere less choking each time. As she walked the lengths of the tombs and turned the corner to where Jon’s mother lay, she saw a figure sitting and leaning against a wall opposite the statue. Her feet momentarily slowed as she pondered who would be down here at this early hour before continuing her advance as potential candidates narrowed to a singular.

“Jon?” She called out softly.

Jon’s head whipped up, “Dany!” he rushed to his feet, just as surprised to see her. Dusting off his cloak as he coughed anxiously into his fist. “I didn’t know you’d be coming down.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Tilting her head down to the bouquet of Winter Roses she carried, “I meant only to come and pay my respects. I can come by later if you wish to be alone?” That seemed to catch him off guard.

“No! No, that’s quite alright.” His gaze met hers as he stood straighter, “It’s great that you are here.” His eyes shone brightly, and the corners of his lips drew into a tight smile, the one she grew quite fond of during their time together.

Daenerys stepped closer as her cheeks blushed, her features curling upwards as well. She rounded to face the statue of Lyanna Stark that laid before them. Slowly, she strode forward and dropped herself to her knees in front of the figure of Jon’s mother. Considerately she placed the bouquet of flowers in front of the statue before closing her eyes and extending a brief moment of respite.

After a moment, she rose and regarded her place by Jon’s side again. His eyes had misted with unshed tears. Daenerys’ focus was interrupted as she sensed Jon’s hand cautiously sneak into her own. She glanced down at their hands as their fingers intertwined and laced together as her heart quickened. Jon’s eyes looked unbroken into her own for a moment as he gave her hand a gentle squeeze.

“Thank you,” appreciation graced his features.

“Of course.” She offered feebly before another moment of silence overtook them.

“Can you, … tell me about him again?” His voice was quiet, shy, even, “ _My father_?”

Daenerys turned to face Jon once more and saw the tenderness in his glassy obsidian orbs. The silent pleading, a yearning to know. To know _more_ than the stories he was told his whole life. She felt moved he put such open faith in her, to let her be able to be the one to impart him about the father he never knew and didn’t blame him if the information had slipped his mind from the time of their previous, and uneasy, conversation. So Daenerys stretched her mind back again and began recalling as many details as possible.

“Your father, … was a _good_ man.” She started, “A man of love and passion, whose heart was never created for the likes of war and violence. He was good at killing, I’m told, but he always hated it. You take much after him in that regard.” Daenerys smiled softly, took a pause, and returned his attention, “Instead, he loved to play his harp and sing.”

Jon gave a gentle chuckle as he allowed a tear to finally slip down his cheek now. “I thought you were merely jesting, but… _Sing?_ He _actually_ loved to _sing_?”

It sounded ridiculous, but it was her time to giggle this time. “ _Yes_!”

Daenerys nodded her head firmly, before reiterating, “It’s true, he used to love to sing and play his harp to the people of King’s Landing, it’s not a jest!” Her eyes beamed at him as she chuckled.

Jon shot her a heartwarming glance, as smiles inched their way across their faces. They found themselves carelessly gazing at one another for an extended tender moment. Daenerys quickly felt herself being reeled in by an inescapable pull, just the same as she had when she had her first intimate interaction with him alone in the caves on Dragonstone. The weight of her eyes instantly became burdensome, and warmth began emanating from her chest indiscreetly as her heart palpitated.

Determinedly, Daenerys cleared her throat, breaking them from their stirring gaze as her cheeks flushed, and made to finish her story, “Ser Barristan told me that he would take the money he earned from playing his Harp and use it to help the people, to make their lives better, to make a difference. _That’s_ the type of man your father was, Jon.”

At that, she gently put her hand on Jon’s arm and squeezed it softly, “The type of man _you_ are.”

Jon’s face gave a soft laugh as tears began to flow smoothly down his face now. He quietly wept as Daenerys pulled him into her comforting embrace, allowing him to rest his head on her shoulder and wrapping her arms around him and holding him tightly. She gently brought her hand to the nape of his neck and began tenderly scratching his hair.

“He loved you, Jon,” Daenerys quietly whisped as she held him in her arms, “and he would be _so_ proud of you. I know he would, as would _she_. You’ll never need to feel alone in their love.”

This prompted Jon to sob harder as he tautened his embrace and brought their chests flush to one another. Even through the layers of their clothing, Daenerys could distinctly feel his heart beating against hers. They stood like this and slowly swayed and rocked each other in one another's arms unhurriedly. She never relented caressing his head and holding him.

After some time, Jon brought his head up and looked enthusiastically at her face. His features arched up in excitement. His expression caught her off guard, but his words surprised her more.

“You were never alone in love either, Dany.” Her brows arched quizzically, “Even across the Narrow Sea, you _always_ had someone looking out for you.” Jon gently took her hands in his as she stared back with spellbound attention.

“The maester during my time at Castle Black, before he passed away peacefully, his name was Aemon. _Aemon_ _Targaryen_ , your great uncle!” He exclaimed excitedly, her heart quivered, and her eyes watered at the knowledge that she had another member of her family. Another Targaryen in the world that she hadn’t even known about. “He’d ask about you all the time. Whenever we got correspondence or news about you, he’d have me read it for him so he could learn all about you.” Jon lightly stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, “He loved you Dany, fiercely. He would’ve relished the chance to meet you.”

Daenerys couldn’t hope to stop it at that point, her emotions broke through, and it was her time to weep. The water flowed from her eyes as she nestled her head, comfortingly into his neck as she processed this new information. _My great uncle was alive, and he loved me. He loved me without even knowing me._ Her heart melted at such pure, unconditional love. Softly, Jon’s hand reached up and cupped her face, caressing her cheek affectionately, drawing her attention back to his eyes as she met his tender gaze.

“‘ _A Targaryen alone in the world is a terrible thing,_ ’ he once told me.” His eyes brimmed with emotion as they peered into her own, lighting a fire inside her. “You will never again be the _last_ Targaryen. You will never again be _alone_ , Daenerys.” His face broke out into a wide smile as he stroked her cheek, “Now, you have _me_. _We_ have _each other._ ”

Daenerys choked on her emotions as they overwhelmed her. New tears began to fall, tears of pure joy. Jon pulled her lightly into his embrace again, resting one arm around her back, while the other moved to brush her hair as they rested their heads together. He swayed her slowly in his arms for a time and never made to let her go. The world melted away, leaving them in their heartfelt embrace. Daenerys let her emotions wash over her in a wave, grateful for this wonderful gift Jon had given her.

_She was never the last of her family, and she would never be again._

“Thank you, Jon.” She tightened her arms and squeezed him, “I’ll never forget it.”

_Nothing else mattered. Nothing but this._

_The Last of the Targaryens._

_Together._

She lifted her head gradually and brought her hand up to tenderly glide along his cheek. Jon’s hands then slowly slid and encircled coyly around her waist. He smoothly dragged them closer together, so their chests were flush upon one another again, and their faces were only a breath away. Their noses nuzzled delicately against one another as their half-lidded eyes fastened on the others. Jon’s nervous and hitched exhalation circulated intensely over her face, Daenerys briefly let her eyes drift closed as she relished in it, just as she had the very first night they were together, when he had trepidatiously rapped on her chamber door on the ship in the waning hours of the night.

As Daenerys leisurely opened and renewed her gaze, she found herself transfixed deep into his depthless pools, which were electric and wild with her so close. Jon inched his head down, agonizingly slowly, and their shy lips started to lightly graze one another. The defeaning thudding in her ears echoed her rapidly pounding heart as the world dulled and muted around her.

Daenerys could sense her hungry wolf prowling beneath the surface, savoring each arduous breath she took, waiting to ravish it’s prey that it held it in’s inescapable clutches. Her body set ablaze in a familiar inferno that she had longingly craved as it ravaged her body and made her tremble softly in his arms.

As she gazed into his eyes, she saw no storm, she saw no uncertainty, no reservedness…

She saw only warmth, devotion, and…

“Jon!”

The intimate moment was broken up by a voice from over their shoulders.

“It’s that time again lad –“ Davos started as he rounded the corner and his eyes landed on the closely entangled pair, “Oh! -,” His brows arched up in surprise, “Your Grace!”

At the mention of his name and the new presence, Jon progressively broke away from their embrace. Daenerys reluctantly let go, not caring for propriety at this moment, holding him for as long as could she could before finally resigning herself and putting a step between them. Jon inched his head up and wiped the moistness off his face with his glove.

“Aye, apologies Ser Davos. Tell them we are on our way.”

“Of course, right away.” Davos speedily exited the way he came.

Daenerys turned back to Jon and laid her hand on his arm, giving it a soft squeeze, and an heartfelt look.

“How are you feeling?”

His lips curved immediately into a natural and sincere smile.

_“Whole.”_

Her heart fluttered and dissolved altogether.

Jon breathed deeply and held her hand in his as he tenderly flowed his thumb over the backs of her fingers. Still glancing down, he murmured the words neither of them wanted to hear, “Let’s not keep the others waiting.”

Daenerys summoned the most unconvincing smile she could before meekly sighing in agreement. He offered her his arm, and she wrapped her hand around it as they unenthusiastically made their way to the exit of the crypts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One quick bout of reassurance I wanted to give at the end of this chapter for those who might begin to worry, this story is firmly rooted in Jonerys. I love them both profoundly, and, without giving too much away, you can rest assured about the fate of our beloved characters.
> 
> The gravity-well between Jon and Daenerys continues to draw closer and closer... what did you think? Leave me a line below <3


	4. Coalescence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final arrangements are put into place for the march to Kings Landing, as an unlikely entreaty develops.

* * *

As the two stepped late into the War Council side-by-side, they hooked numerous glances. Some, like Tyrion and Sansa, gazed unapprovingly. Others, like Davos and Missendei, were stifling a smirk, while the rest were merely insensible and frankly didn’t care. They irreverently dismissed them all the same as Jon and Daenerys took their respective positions at the table portraying Westeros. The council was permeated with the same people as the previous day.

Daenerys cleared her throat to begin.

“Thank you all again for congregating this council once more. Before we commence, I wish to announce that I've elected to suspend our march planned for today in service of allowing the troops additional time to rest and recuperate.” She solicited an inquisitive glance over to Sansa who held a stifled look of disbelief. Daenerys couldn’t help let a faint grin edge onto her face. “With that said, we will still be conducting and arranging our designs regarding Kings Landing today as originally planned. Lord Snow will proceed with further information.”

Jon promptly spoke up, “Thank you, Your Grace. The rest will ensure the men are energized and poised to fight.” He expelled her an obliged nod and a charming smile. Daenerys reciprocated his kindness. He quickly straightened before setting his knuckles on the table, collecting everyone’s concentrated attention. He elevated his hand and guided to Kings Landing as he spoke.

“Lord Tyrion has informed us that Kings Landing is jumbled with Wildfire traps. These traps are placed all throughout the city and are united in a way that one’s detonation could potentially ignite them all. Effectively destroying and leveling the city, thus precluding any large scale siege in fear of these caches coming into play if they aren’t ostracized. However, we _do_ have a solution.”

The air in the room became grimly still from the erudition as the stakes now became much more precarious than initially considered before. Everyone stood poignantly listening as Jon then turned his regard to Davos before resuming.

“Ser Davos, as we’ve discussed privately, you’ll be smuggling a small party into the tunnels beneath the city and working to neutralize the triggers of the traps along the main road. As well as those closest to the fortified outer walls as these areas will be at the forefront of our attack's attention, and most inclined to be in danger of being disrupted. With those immediate threats offset, you may begin further disarming the traps in any order you see fit. Just get as many as possible.”

The older man gave Jon a supportive inclination before turning to Arya by his side, “My lady, have you settled the rest of the party that plans to accompany with us to that shithole?”

Arya’s face remained impassive as she clasped her hands behind her back and looked amongst the map, analyzing the layout of Kings Landing. “Gendry and Sandor Clegane.”

Both capable fighters, Daenerys gave her unnecessary nod indicating her endorsement of Arya’s choices. Davos looked concerned in a fatherly type-of-way at the mention of Gendry but offered no contest and chose to remain silent. Daenerys decided to withhold the ulterior motive of Arya’s intentions. Regardless though, Sansa looked upon her sister with barely contained incredulity at her plans to head to Kings Landing.

 _A standard look for this meeting,_ Daenerys silently mused _._

Arya paid her sister's prying leer no attention either as she straightened himself and turned back to face Daenerys. Feeling the eyes of the room fall upon herself once more, Daenerys recommenced to discuss to logistics of the idea.

“With Ser Davos’ team working to dismantle the traps that lay beneath the city, this should allow our siege of the city to proceed unimpeded. Lord Snow will be organizing the Northern advance south with his own officers, while I will be maneuvering with a share of the Unsullied back to Dragonstone as originally planned in a few days. Once there, we will coordinate an attack on Euron Greyjoy’s fleet, sinking sink it with the dragons, before returning to assist Lord Snow's contingent.”

Tyrion shifted forward and rounded the table, “Your Grace, pardon me, but you are operating under the presupposition that Euron Greyjoy is not, _already at_ Dragonstone.” He delayed momentarily as she quickly glanced over to her Hand with beseeching observation, “With the several weeks they’ve had to prepare for our aims to march south while we battled the dead, his fleet may be already waiting _at_ Dragonstone.”

Daenerys let out an exasperated exhalation. While Varys’ words the other day brought about the possibility in her mind, Tyrion needlessly legitimized it with his concerns once again today. While Daenerys didn’t forget about the Greyjoy fleet, she couldn’t be naïve enough to think they wouldn’t exploit any opening they could get. If that involves laying in wait and setting a trap, they will take that opportunity.

The last reports had the fleet posted in the Blackwater Bay, though they needn’t travel far to reach Dragonstone. If Daenerys and her advisors were thinking of it _here_ , there is no uncertainty that _they_ thought of it as well. This changed her original plan little though, she was confident in her children's ability to make swift work of the fleet, just as she had done in the bay of Meeren against the slavers.

“Then, we shall see to it to send a advanced scouting body down to Crackclaw Point. After our departure, I will rendezvous with them ahead of the fleet and gather information on the Iron Fleet's whereabouts, and we will act accordingly.” Daenerys turned to the commander of her army, “Grey Worm, select ten of your most trusted men and have them depart immediately for the Point, tell them I will meet them in a few days.” The man wordlessly nodded his understanding.

Daenerys then reverted her gaze back upon the marker depicting her family’s original home in Westeros, “If Euron is foolish enough to challenge us, I will set his fleets afire and give his followers the drowned death they so desperately desire.” Her intrinsic calmness with that of which spoke unnerved Tyrion as he grimaced and shifted uneasily.

_When had her hand become so sensitive to the nature and realities of war?_

Daenerys elected to call him out on his ostensibly newfound set of subjugated morals. Choosing to express similar sentiments she once spoke with Jon, “War is terrible Lord Tyrion. Don’t presume to think I _enjoy_ the reality of it. We are fighting to bring an _end_ to conflict across the Seven Kingdoms. To do so requires strength and sometimes, strength is terrible.”

This seemed to placate Tyrion, at least for the time being, as he obstinately nodded his resignation on the subject and holding his tongue before continuing to the next thought that occupied his mind. “The Golden Company, how do you plan to deal with them?”

Jon cleared his throat and answered before Daenerys could speak again, “Without Rhaegal, the Northern’s advance will be largely dictated by the actions of the Golden Company. If they remain at Kings Landing and tend to their defenses, we should be able to march unobstructed.”

His concerns were eased when Varys spoke up, “The last my little birds heard, they were fortifying their defenses in the Capital. Scorpions line the walls, and civilians are gradually lulling into the Red Keep. No doubt, a means to an end.”

Daenerys engrossed their words mindfully. The scorpions had already been employed in battle against her dragons before during the Blackwater Rush to shocking and terrifying effect. Her child’s screams as the massive bolt pierced his all-but impenetrable scales resounded hauntingly in her mind. The thought of confronting fortified positions lined with them caused her blood to boil at the thought, and that wasn’t even taking into account the latter half of the Spider’s revelations.

 _The bitch planned to use hostages as instruments of war_.

Daenerys seethed, and her jaw set firm as she ground her teeth. The Long Night brought arborous horrors she would never forget while she drew breathe, but she still felt bewildered and appalled at the sheer extent of the livings own culpability for cruelty and injustice against its own. Daenerys decided to tackle the problem she knew she could at the given moment.

“Leave the Scorpions to me. They will not touch my children ever again.” Her voice was firm with resolve. “As far as the Red Keep,” she shifted, “Ser Davos, when we arrive south at King’s Landing and the siege begins, would you be able to establish a way to free the civilians in the Red Keep amidst the chaos that will erupt in the city?”

The old smuggler stroked his beard provisionally at the thought, “I could try my best, Your Grace, but I must say, I won’t be able to prioritize _both_ the Wildfire _and_ the trapped folks, that simply will be too much to accomplish.” He lamented, “When the siege nears, I’ll have to make a decision whether to cease disarming the Wildfire caches to enact a plan for the Red Keep, _or_ to continue to root out as many caches as I can.” He paused a beat, “Which would you prefer, Your Grace?”

Daenerys dipped her head as she brought her hands to rest on the table. She closed her eyes for a moment and exhaled prudently. Her thoughts contended, and the weight of the decision bore heavily on her. She wished she could do both, but knew that was not going to be an option. Not with Cersei at the helm.

Daenerys pushed herself off the table and clasped her hands in front of her again, inhaling intensely, “When the time comes, Ser Davos, prioritize the people.” The smuggler nodded his understanding quietly.

She promptly looked around the room and at the faces watching back at her. Her eyes fluttered back to the map once again to take a abiding look at what promises to be the cultivation of her entire’s life purpose. To reclaim the ancestral seat of her family and restore her home from the usurpers. It was so close she felt she could reach and grasp it tangibly.

“That will conclude our gathering today. We will reconvene briefly in a few days again before beginning our final march south.” Daenerys solicited a reaffirming nod at those around the table, who returned her gesture.

As the throng of people started to stream out, Jon swiftly reached out for Arya’s arm before she ducked out of sight, as he cast his eyes to meet Daenerys’ momentarily. She shot him an affirming nod, acknowledging his silent inquiry and giving her answer before he twisted back to his sister.

“Arya, would you mind venturing with me for a moment? There are matters I wish to discuss with you.”

At the words uttered out of her brother's mouth, Arya beamed brightly, and her stature became that of an excited child, unable to constrain the exhilaration in her voice.

“Is this about the dragon’s?!”

“Arya!” Jon's mouth hung open as he glowered at her in exasperation at her lack of subtlety as he hushed his tone to a harsh whisper, “Not. Here.”

She was not flustered in the slightest at her brother's rigid tactics and instead jostled him out the door with her hurriedly, nearly skipping as she did so. As they two left the room, it was just Daenerys and Sansa left. Sansa motioned to the door to follow her sister out, but upon arriving at the door, she stirred, and instead of pulling it open and leaving, Sansa instead shut it softly and rounded to face Daenerys.

* * *

“Your Grace, may I have a word?” She entreated leadingly as she guided back to the table, and the pair of chairs sat idly nearby.

Daenery’s eyebrows arched in surprise, “Of course, Lady Stark.”

The two ladies deliberately made their way to their chairs and drew them next to one another on the side of the table. Their relaxed and calm exteriors betrayed the profoundly seeping tautness that had settled uncomfortably around them as they sat.

As this meeting was of not her own accord, Daenerys naturally folded her hands in front of her and unabatingly awaited what the Lady of Winterfell had to say. She had gave her hand at reconciliation with Jon’s eldest sister, only to be shot down austerely before the Battle of Winterfell. Since then, she left any further mollifying in Sansa’s court.

Sansa didn't make her wait long as she started, “Your Grace, I must say, I’m most pleased to hear that you have elected to delay the march south to allow the men to rest.” Sansa paused a beat, “If I may ask, what swayed your mind?”

Churning through what to say for a moment, Daenerys decided on honest brevity. “Your brother’s assurances.”

“I see.” Sansa gave a slow, measured, nod, “Regardless of the reasons, I’m grateful for your decision. As I’m sure, the troops will be too.”

Daenerys offered a cordial smile, “One can never be too prepared, especially now with the latest news of the Wildfire, and the arrival of the Golden Company.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Sansa said resolutely, Daenerys ventured to believe she glimpsed the inkling of a smile cross the woman’s face.

Sansa’s expression quickly darkened, however, as she slinked her gaze away down to her hands. Daenerys noted that she began to fiddle with them apprehensively as she did so. Slowly, Sansa shook her head from side to side and swallowed thickly before meeting Daenerys’ eyes again and taking the conversation in a solemn direction.

“I thought we were prepared.” Sansa breathed, as Daenerys took note of the slight quiver in her voice, the softer look in the woman’s eyes, the _vulnerable_ look, as she continued, “But nothing could have prepared us for what we faced that night.”

Pausing a beat, Sansa bowed her head into her lap, “Jon, ... told my sister, and I.”

_No..._

Daenerys’ heart instantly reeled forward in her throat, and she nearly suffocated on the sensation of queasiness and distress threatening her stomach abruptly.

“He told us about the fate of your third dragon we never saw. How you saved his life north of the wall; how you offered your support to us before he even bent the knee.”

_Oh._

Daenerys immediately eased from the tightness that compulsorily clutched her body and started to breathe again. Sansa collected her thoughts once more before resuming her sobering thoughts.

“Seeing what occurred that night, it was worse than any story. It was worse than any night terror. That night, I truly felt like I was trapped in the seven hells. Inescapable and crushing hopelessness that I’ve never felt to that extent before. Yet, we survived.” Languidly, Sansa crept her gaze up from her still-kneading hands and met Daenerys' eyes timidly, “We wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for you.”

Daenerys fought the notion to fall back in shock like the wind was promptly thumped out of her. She felt stunned at the conversation she had with Jon’s younger sister, but _this,_ this was swiftly taking the crown for the _most_ _astounding_ turn of events as far as she was involved, overshadowing all but the Night Kings convenient demise.

She discerned she still had the opportunity to be dumbfounded as Sansa reached across the distance between them and placed her hand on her own residing comfortably on the table.

“While I will never lose the tightly-guarded affinity of which I regard the North’s sovereignty with, I want there to be no question that I _am_ truly grateful for what you’ve done for the North, and for you saving my brother when you needn’t have to.”

Daenerys quickly seized the moment similar to their previous conversation only a few days prior. She gave the woman’s hand an affectionate squeeze and consciously let her hand remain there, firmly planted, choosing to not repeat the actions and pull it back like the other day which she viewed now as a mistake. A breach of openness and understanding, laboring the intent she came to that conversation to have in the first place. Sansa recommenced her admissions.

“Winterfell is my home, and it always will be. I’ve left it before under foolish girlish dreams, and I’ve endured it through the darkest and most traumatic times of my life. Times that left scars that I won’t be able to erase from my memory while I still draw breath. I’ve left it and lost it more times than I could’ve fathomed in my life.” Her voice shivered, and her body shuddered with the recollection of past horrors, but still, she pressed on with her candor.

“The only thing I can hope for is to try my best to make it the home I’ve always dreamt of, and to make sure that I, _never,_ lose it again.” Sansa’s resolve suddenly stiffened, “A place where a soul never has to suffer like I had to.” Sansa’s genuine testimonies resonated with Daenerys’ core.

While she still was circumspect of the prospect of the North’s independence, Daenerys couldn’t dismiss the familiarity of the story she shared. One of seeking for a home, feeling forgotten and helpless, the urge to make something better than what was presented. It gave Daenerys new-found courage when approaching their relationship and conversations. A new relatability she desired to unite with Jon’s sister. Daenerys gave Sansa’s hand a supportive press, her inspiration coming more open now, slackened even, before confiding in her.

Daenerys began, “In truth, the only semblance I have had of home is a house I lived in briefly as a young girl in Braavos. It had a large red door I remember vividly, and a quaint lemon tree planted outside.” A smile crept onto her face at her reminisce, before turning into a frown as the retention transpired in her mind, “That was before Robert’s assassins came and butchered my guardians, forcing my brother and I to began our life on the run.” She dipped her head down. “Ever since then, running from one place to the next is the closest I’ve known of home my entire life.”

Daenerys’ voice tarried pensively, “Throughout it all, I’ve been abused, raped, defiled, and bartered. An _object_ in _other_ people’s wishes and desires.” Sansa's eyes widened at Daenerys’ transparency and startling directness, her mouth gaped slightly in shock as Daenerys continued. “Do you know what kept me standing through all those years in exile? _Faith._ In _myself_.” Daenerys inclined her head at Sansa, “The _same_ way your faith in you has kept you alive.” Sansa’s eyes softened at that.

It was Sansa’s turn to squeeze Daenerys’ hand this time, offering a sympathetic smile in response. Sansa glanced around the room then, deep in thought, as she looked at the map, the walls of the place she called home that she currently resided in, all before belatedly meeting her own once more to converse further.

“Perhaps our experiences aren’t so dissimilar after all.” She extended a mournful gaze, “When I was taken by Ramsay Bolton, It was hard to keep my focus on the future. Hard to think of brighter times. I often considered that of taking my own life.” Sansa hesitated as her voice wrenched, tremors swelled underneath, “Anything to make the horror stop, the pain to stop. I don’t think I’ll ever to escape the things he did to me, but I’m trying my best to keep moving forward.”

Daenerys gently clasped their hands together and held their grip, consolingly, “I felt the same as you did when I was sold off to Khal Drogo and forced to be his bride.” She reflected for a beat as Sansa’s eyes came up to meet hers emotionally, “Things _do_ get better, Sansa. I don’t mean to say the pain will ever go away, it never fully does.” She shook her head, gravely, “But, you _do_ learn how to find joy in things again. To find _happiness_ in your life again.”

At that, Sansa’s emotions betrayed her superficially calm exterior as Daenerys noted her eyes dampened. Daenerys wanted to grasp the moment, to truly hammer home that they _were_ on the _same_ side, like they had been against the dead, and could be _again_ against whatever else was thrown at them. That Jon’s sister, who she could tell had a tender heart even though it was barbed off and shielded judiciously, didn’t have to feel so isolated. That she didn’t have to only rely on herself and herself, _alone_. Daenerys, perhaps better than anyone, understood that way of life, and the emotionally encumbering debt it reaps, and she felt determined to make sure Sansa never felt the same way she did.

She brought her hand to soothingly squeeze Sansa’s arm, her next words sang with open sincerity and care. Brimming with compassion and gentleness, that one might use when speaking to a chastised child.

“Sansa, the _last_ thing I would ever want to do is take away your home. After what I’ve experienced, after what _we’ve_ endured, I could _never_ even begin to imagine afflicting that pain on you. After I acquire the Iron Throne, I would relish the opportunity to discuss potential ways of managing the North with you, as my _Wardeness_ _of the North_ , a trusted ally, and a _dear friend_.” She shot Sansa a heartening smile, “We can work _together_ to create the image of home you covet. I believe we could come to a compromise and perhaps, in time, arrive on the _mutual_ decision, for complete Northern Independence.”

Sansa didn’t try to stop her emotions from bursting through as Daenerys finished. She clutched at her hands tightly as a rogue tear slipped down her face. With her mask displaced and her guard down, it was the most exposed Daenerys had ever seen the young woman. Daenerys gingerly brought her arms around Sansa and moved her into a comforting embrace. Startled, Sansa, hesitantly, brought her own around Daenerys, clearly stunned by the genial gesture of compassion.

A brief moment passed before the two tenderly eased from their embrace. Sansa consolidated herself from the temporary collapse of her walls as she wiped the wetness off her face with her gloved hands and offered Daenerys a kind smile.

_A smile not shrouded in deceit, a smile not harboring any resentment, but instead, her face beamed true to her center and resounded with uncontested gratitude._

Sansa gave her hands one last tight squeeze, “Thank you, Your Grace. You honor me.” She cleared the last remnants of tears from her face, “I’d like to learn to work together again. To build a _new_ home.” She smiled weakly before casting her head down, “I’ve been on my own for so long, fighting for myself just to stay alive, I’ve forgotten what it’s like to be on a team.”

Daenerys looked benevolently into Sansa’s eyes then, “You don’t have to be alone again, Sansa. _Never_ again, I promise.”

The two composed themselves, as an unhurried bout of taciturnity birthed amid them, letting the words articulated between them settle and take root. Two imperfect, scarred people coming together unitedly to coalesce and strengthen one another, and to become more momentous than the summation of themselves.

The air of animosity has evanesced entirely and instead, beautiful understanding and reverence were established in its wake. Roots that Daenerys intended to nurture and let flourish into a peremptory affiliation between the two of them, a far cry from the estrangled resentment and antipathy that existed in its stead. Daenerys felt deep gratification at the result of this brief time with Sansa, and had gained a new perspective on the multi-layered woman that had intimidated her upon her initial arrival to Winterfell.

Sansa rose to her feet before bowing, “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me, Your Grace.”

Daenerys rose in response and quickly laid her hand on Sansa’s forearm, “Please, Sansa, call me Daenerys, there’s no need for such formalities between us.” At this, Sansa’s face split up into a bright smile.

“Then, thank you, … _Daenerys_.” The name felt odd from her at first, but it was a start. Sansa extended a polite bow, and a final earnest smile, before she made her way to depart, leaving Daenerys alone.

As she left, Daenerys heaved loose all the breath she had unknowingly locked tight in her lungs and quickly placed her hands on the table to catch herself, and allocate the immense weight she felt on her shoulders. Reigning in her breathing, she began to ease her anxieties clutching at her chest since the start of the conversation.

_Two sisters, two productive discussions. Dare she say she felt hope yet for earning their respect?_

Although Daenerys wasn’t sure what suddenly spurred the sister's decisions to seek her out, she felt content, albeit, emotionally spent. She knew she had other essential obligations to attend to today. Her thoughts ran through of all the things required of her queenly duties, before elating as her face settled in a deep smirk.

She smoothed her dress and felt a twinge of excitement race through her. Promptly she glided to the door and went to search for Jon and his sister.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of all the chapters so far, Daenerys and Sansa's dialogue has got to one of the parts that fretted me the most. It was a particularly difficult angle to try and come at, and I tried my best for the conversation to flow naturally in-character, and feel genuine. I strongly am of the belief that these two fiercely independent women, while they had a rocky start, would've quickly related and connected to one another with the deeply experiential similarities they share. I have my doubts if I was able to make it believable though, but, what did you all think? 
> 
> Thanks for reading, looking forward to hearing your thoughts! 
> 
> <3 ~U


	5. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elevated revelations of varying types, a team departs to Kings Landing, and a foreboding wraith wades back to Winterfell after a mysterious interlude.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the amazing comments on the last chapter, I'm so glad you are giving my iteration of Sansa a chance. Hopefully, you like this chapter as well!

* * *

“So, they both have names?”

“They do.”

“The one you rode is Rhaegal, right? The green one?”

“That’s the one.”

“What is the name of the one Daenerys rides?”

“His name is Drogon.”

“What was it like, flying on top of a dragon for the first time?”

Jon conceded a recess in the winding bombardment of inquiries that Arya had been assailing him with for the duration of the trek to the main gate as they anticipated Daenerys. He stood musing how to fulfill her last question as Davos then drifted into the conversation and took a spot next to the two of them. 

“Flying for the first time was… unlike anything, I’ve ever felt. It was truly terrifying, yet, awe-inspiring. It fills you with wonderment and leaves you feeling, … _liberated_?” He did his best to surmise.

She swung her head and couldn’t help but let her jaw drop in astonishment. “I still can’t believe my brother has ridden a dragon. Twice!”

Jon’s heart swelled at the sight of his sister so lively. He couldn’t recall the last time he had seen her so happy, unfettered from the anxieties and affairs of the importunate world, free to be the silly girl envisaging about fantastical creatures and audacious warrior queens again. He couldn’t but help yield a grin before Davos slapped him on the back.

“You know, one of these days, you’re going to have to tell us how that happened?” 

Jon bit back a chortle at the truth, as alluring as it was. Instead, he settled on a more worldly and appeasing acknowledgment. “I guess I’m just _that_ amenable!” 

As the three broke out into an earnest laugh, Daenerys emerged and made her way out into the courtyard and strode over to the group. Taking her place among them, the three bowed curtly.

“Your Grace.” The three-spoke in concert. 

She twirled her eyes at their formalities, her gaze flicked between Arya and then to Jon and back again, enthusiasm brimming underneath her violet pools. “Well? Shall we introduce you to the dragons?” 

Without a moment's delay, Arya spoke up instantly, “Yes!”

Daenerys allowed a small giggle as she turned to Jon, he gave a shy smile as his cheeks flushed imperceptibly and he shrugged his shoulders. She then shifted to Davos, who was still among the group. “Ser Davos, will you be joining us?” 

The old man looked startled to be prolonged the invitation but respectfully shook his head, “Oh no, Your Grace. I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ve already seen my share of them from here.”

Daenerys nodded before holding her arm out to Jon, who linked it with his own. He motioned with his head for Arya to tag along as she briskly stepped aside from them and matched their stride. 

As the three got further and further from the gate, the air shuddered with a roar as the two dragons surged overhead, nearly scraping the top of the castle. Jon and Arya instinctually stooped, as if it mattered, while Daenerys continued forth totally uninterrupted while nipping back a mischievous smirk. Arya strode awe-struck at the dragons as they circled in the sky for a moment before descending and landing back at their designated ground they claimed for themselves, causing the field to tremor as they did so. 

“Do you have a connection with them? Do they listen to you?” Arya asked curiously as she resumed to beam at the dragons.

Daenerys grinned as she explained, “I do. They are my children.” She twisted to face her then as she continued to walk, “Jon has told me of the Starks connections to their Direwolves, I imagine the bond is not so different.” 

Jon chortled softly then, “It’s more… _distinct_ , but it is similar… as if there is anything to compare a _dragon_ too.” He rolled his eyes before shooting a sly wink at Daenerys; her cheeks immediately crimsoned rosy red as she deflected her flirtatious gaze. Arya ruminated on that for a moment as she still gaped at the dragons, before rocking her head in wonder.

As the three began to get nearer to the dragons, Arya’s feet began to slacken sheepishly. Daenerys promptly took note and extended her hand, “Come, they won’t harm you. I promise.” Arya visibly gulped before taking her offer and sealing the final distance.

The two dragons eyed casually at their riders, but their nosiness thoroughly peaked at the newcomer that trailed with them. Rhaegal, the ever-curious one, instantly scuttled closer and lowered his snout to get a sniff of their newer visitor. At this, Jon took off his glove and smoothly brushed it along the dragons massive head, eliciting soft coo’s and purr’s that Jon had quickly grown to adore. 

Jon remarked Arya was still standing timorous a few steps away, so he broke his connection with Rhaegal and gently grasped her wrist and coaxed her to accompany him. As the two got within a couple of feet of the eagerly anticipating and inquisitive Dragon, Arya imitated Jon’s actions and took her glove off her hand. 

“It’s alright,” Jon reassured to his sister as he placed his hand back on Rhaegal’s snout. He sensed no aggression or hostility in the magnificent creature. He turned to face Arya once more and motioned eagerly for her to join her. “He’s thrilled to meet you.”

Arya crept closer until she was standing next to Jon as Rhaegal’s massive eyes stared upon her. Gradually, very gradually, she placed her hand on the side of the Dragon’s snout and stroked its scales cautiously. The Dragon let out a burst of air and hummed affectionately at her tactility. 

As Arya’s venations began to settle, she let out an exuberate giggle. “Jon, I’m petting a dragon. I’m. Petting. A. Dragon!” 

He couldn’t help but follow in her merriment and excitement as she remained to pet the magnificent creature. Rhaegal nuzzled and relished her touch, extending more coo’s as she became more self-confident and began stroking the side of his head and beneath his great chin. 

Jon turned to see Daenerys, who was observing with rapt and enthralled attention. Her face beamed with giddiness and exhilaration. He shot her a grateful look before turning back to watch his little sister’s fantasies come to fruition. 

“Never thought you’d see a real dragon did you, let alone get to touch one?” He jested as he brought his arm around his sister's shoulder and went to caress Rhaegal alongside her. 

They were both suddenly stirred from their stupor as Daenerys spoke up from behind them, still watching them, “Why stop there?” Jon swiftly spun and gaped at her, a grin graced her features from ear-to-ear. 

_She did not mean…_

“Why don’t we take you for a ride around Winterfell?” 

Jon gave her a hard, _I-can’t-believe-you-right-now_ look, and shook his head as he answered her sincere smirk. Arya spun around then, stunned, mouth completely agape, “You mean, a ride on the dragons?” Daenerys merely nodded as Arya’s excitement reached new heights. 

Arya turned to face Jon and was nearly jumping in place, “Jon can I? Please?”

He groaned and pressed his eyes with his fingers. He teasingly averted his eyes to Daenerys once more who smiled proudly back and shrugged. ‘Oops,’ he vowed he saw her mouth wordlessly. 

“Alright, but only around Winterfell.” Arya lept at him and embraced him tightly then. He couldn’t help but laugh again as his heart dilated. He pressed her back tightly before splitting away and shifting his attention to the Dragon, who intelligently recognized what was about to happen. 

The flame in Jon’s chest blazed and flashed with unbridled exhilaration. 

The relationship between him and Rhaegal was getting more substantial and more powerful, the more they associated. He could sense it every day. Rooted within him, he welcomed the Dragon becoming a more vital part of him; he was beginning to understand their bond more. Awareness and sensations were growing interlinked, and communication was starting to form, albeit crude for the time being. He understood the Dragon could perceive and pick up his emotions well enough now, so he rehearsed what he anticipated would be the natural progression of their connection and concentrated hard on the fire in his chest. He focused a message and compelled it to his heart. 

_‘This is my sister. We are going to take her for a little ride around Winterfell. Is that okay?’_

Instinctually the blaze shined brighter with enthusiasm as the Dragon met his gaze with its deep golden eyes and cooed musically. Rhaegal then dropped his head to admit the two upon his back. Jon stroked his hand along the Dragon's head in gratefulness as he made his way to the creature’s shoulder. Once there, he turned and held out his hand for Arya.

She eagerly scrambled on, and the two hastily fixed themselves on Rhaegal’s back. Arya sat behind Jon and encircled her arms tightly his chest. He could feel her heart racing, and he chuckled as he pressed her arms reassuringly. “Hang on tight, alright?”

As the two settled in, Daenerys effortlessly strode upon Drogon and took her place as the Mother of Dragons she was. She peered over the two clustered together on Rhaegal and beamed as she shouted over the distance between them, “Ready?” 

“As we’ll ever be!” Jon exclaimed back. A moment later Drogon drove forward and kicked heavily off the ground and vaulted into the air, sending swathes of air backward at the two. 

Daenerys left the two on the ground as she soared into the sky. Jon collected a deep breathe and shut his eyes, surmising what Daenerys was expecting and waiting for. He directed inwardly, the world muted and dulled around him, as he honed on the flame raging prominently in his chest now. Drawing the words to the forefront of his mind, he rolled them soundlessly over this tongue, testing them and growing more confident with each pass.

After another transient instance, his eyes shot open, and the words rolled effortlessly from his mouth with poise, “Rhaegal, Sōvēgen!”

The Dragon gave a deafeningly thunderous roar and began bounding forward. The spark in his chest flared passionately with liveliness at his uttered words. With a sharp kick, Rhaegal launched them into the air, and they were flying. The Dragon coasted and banked and gained altitude to accompany his brother and mother and began gliding graciously alongside them. Daenerys beamed proudly and shot him a massive grin over the distance as they met her. 

_He had passed her little test._

They were streaming high up now, the ground below seemed quite a distance away, and the Castle of Winterfell looked a far cry of the imposing size it was when up close. The wind was chilly and crisp, but neither of them could feel it as Jon clutched tightly on the creature’s scales and swayed with the Dragon's elegant beating wings. 

Still following Daenerys and Drogon, Jon looked up and met her gaze once more as she peered back at them, from the distance he could faintly make out a fiendish look that made his stomach churn. 

_Oh, no… he recognized that look._

He instantly turned and yelled over his shoulder, “Arya, hang on tight!”

It took a moment for her to bring herself to recognize his words, “Why, what’s-”

Before she could even finish her thoughts, Drogon plunged into a steep and precipitous dive towards the earth. Jon only had a moment to reel in his breath before Rhaegal enthusiastically followed in pursuit. His stomach plummeted as he reeled forward and held onto the Dragon’s scales for dear life as the Dragon proceeded to dive straight for the castle. Arya was nearly splitting him in half as she gripped him tightly for dear life.

As Rhaegal neared the ground at a frightening rate, the castle expanding in size with each fleeting second, the Dragon suddenly flared out its wings and brought a sudden end to their dive and sent them sailing into a graceful orbit around their home. 

With the wind racing back into Jon’s lungs and blood coursing rapidly through his body, he felt alive. More so than he ever felt in his entire life. The feeling was intoxicating. He couldn’t help but cheer and howl at the top of his lungs as the Dragon brought them swirling around Winterfell.

“Woooohooooo!” He gleefully hollered for the whole world to hear. Arya even joined his raucousness and gave exuberant whoops and calls of her own. Rhaegal then supplemented his own earsplitting and mighty roars which caused the two to break out into laughs.

They both felt invigorated as the wind rushed through their hair, tugged at their bodies, and grazed their faces. Jon knew Arya must feel the same way he did. There indeed was nothing like experiencing the wonders of flying on dragon-back. He glanced up and saw Drogon and Daenerys paring away from the castle and heading back to the Dragon’s staging ground. He smoothly stroked Rhaegal’s head and united with the flame in his chest once more.

_‘Alright Rheagal, one more time around and then take us back on down.’_

The Dragon roared in acknowledgment and gave them one last orbiting glimpse of their home before tearing away and gliding back to where his brother and mother await. As the Dragon neared, Rhaegal flared his wings and braced for the touchdown. The ground quaked as the creature landed heavily on the earth and carefully craned it’s neck down to let it’s two riders off.

Jon slid down the Dragon's shoulder and planted his wobbly feet on the ground before turning and catching Arya as she did the same. She oscillated as she grappled with finding her balance as the adventure began to subside slowly. He led her around in front of the Rhaegal to regroup with Daenerys once more. 

“Well? How was it?” Daenerys inquired enthusiastically as they closed the distance and took their place next to her. 

Still incurring her breath, Arya shifted to view the dragons, “That was the most amazing thing that I’ve ever experienced in my entire life.” She seemed on the terminus of tears as she looked upon Daenerys, whose windswept hair and features made her look even more breathtaking than she already did, “Thank you, for making a little girls dream come true.” 

Daenerys then took a step forward and squeezed his sister's shoulder, “I’m so glad I could do that for you.” She smiled sincerely as Arya turned to face Jon.

“You are the luckiest man alive, brother. You know that, don’t you? One of the only people in the world who can say they can ride a dragon!” Her face beamed proudly, “I’ll never know how you do it.” She turned back leisurely and edged very deftly towards Rheagal once more. As she neared, the Dragon leaned snugly into her touch and began to hum resonantly. 

Jon broke his concentration from watching his sister and stepped closer to Daenerys, so they were a foot apart. He deliberately brought his eyes to hers and queried if she already knew what he was thinking. As he looked upon her, her brow curled upwards, and her violet pools gazed understandingly into his own, sensing his soundless plea. Her lips parted momentarily, posturing to say something before resettling amid silence. Instead, she tenderly brought her hand to Jon’s and clasped it, and offered a reassuring squeeze. She nodded her support and approval at him as he let a sigh escape his chest before squeezing her hand back.

‘Thank you.’ He silently mouthed to her before turning back to Arya, who was concluding up worshiping and blessing the Dragon. With one last stroke, she strode back to the two of them. 

“Arya, before you leave, there’s something I need to tell you. Before I do so, I need you to swear to me that you’ll never tell another soul. Including Sansa.” 

She looked up quizzically at him, and then to Daenerys, and back again. Her face gave the impression that she had had enough wonderments today to last a lifetime after getting to ride a dragon, but it swiftly ironed out once she saw his rigid face. She decisively nodded her head and affirmed the trust her brother had put on her. “I won’t tell anyone else, including Sansa. I swear it, Jon.” 

He let on a grateful smile before his gaze gravitated to the dirt. He’d imagined this moment many times in his mind, but now that it was here, he drew blanks, and his mind scrambled recklessly. _Where in Seven Hells do I even start?_ He brought his hand to massage his eyes quickly before reigning in his anxieties and peering back at Arya, who stood impassively. 

“Arya, I-,” he faltered, “I’ve found out who my mother is.”

Her mouth expectedly slipped open and her brow bent up in amazement, “Jon, that’s great news! I’m so happy for you.” She immediately stepped forward and pressed his arm before curiously peering at him now, “If I may, who… is your mother?”

Jon sucked in a breath and held it in his tight chest for a moment as he mustered the determination to divulge one of the most critical secrets the realm has ever had. Before he could change his mind, he suddenly fired it off before second thoughts irked him, “Lyanna Stark.”

Arya’s gaze sharpened then, unwrapping the two uncomplicated, yet charged, words he had uttered. She churned over them for a moment before answering his gaze with enthusiasm, “Jon, you are a Stark. A _trueborn Stark_!” 

He seized hold of Arya’s shoulder comfortingly as he finished the revelation, declaiming feebly and swaying his head, “I’m not.” She seemed utterly perplexed now, her face contorted in dismay before looking over at Daenerys who granted no inkling of clarity at that moment. Instead, she stood observing his little sister, attentively.

He resumed, “Rhaegar Targaryen didn't forcibly take Lyanna like we were told growing up. The truth is that Lyanna fell in love with him; they fell in love with _each other_. Robert’s Rebellion was built on a _lie_.” Arya looked visibly jolted with the news, but he could tell she hadn’t quite put all the pieces together. “After Rhaegar fell on the Trident, Lyanna birthed his son. Robert would’ve killed the babe had he known, and Lyanna knew it, so the last thing she did before she bled to death on her birthing bed, was give the boy to her brother, Ned Stark, with a promise to protect and to raise him as his own.” 

Arya took a step back and began rocking her head from side-to-side, her brow curved upward as he spoke and she began to seem more and more dumbfounded as the puzzle slowly came together. He moved closer to her and held her hand in his deftly. He pitched his head down and breathed as his breath hitched in his throat, he concluded the following words out of his mouth would never get any more pleasant, “My name, my real name, is _Aegon Targaryen_.” 

Arya rocked as he concluded, and the breath evaporated from her lungs. She stood mutely and breathlessly for a moment going over the words that just escaped his mouth. And then over it again, until belatedly, she recovered his gaze once more, her voice pensive. “That’s why isn’t it? That’s why you can connect with the dragons?”

Jon nodded wordlessly. Arya said nothing for a time. Jon then concerningly glanced over at Daenerys who was still unwaveringly examining his sister with undivided consideration, no doubt scrutinizing everything about Arya’s response and pretensions to get an impression of the impact his revelation had.

Suddenly the anxiety was broken as Arya walked closer to Jon and placed her hands square on his arms, clasping him tightly and reassuringly. “You will _always_ be my brother, Jon. I don’t care what you're called or who your parents are. You’ve always been my brother in all ways that matter, and nothing will ever change that.” At her words, his emotions came erupting to the surface at once, and he strangled out a soft sob as tears pooled and began to slip down his face. 

His sister. His little sister that was the only one who treated him as an equal growing up, the only one that truly loved him unconditionally, bastard or not, was again showing him what it meant to be unequivocally cherished once again. He began to weep benevolently with delight as he drew her into his crushing embrace and rocked her side to side, his face hidden in her hair, “Thank you Arry’, thank you.”

The two remained in each other’s embrace for an elongated time, Arya performing no move to divulge the moment. Instead, she swung gently in Jon’s loving embrace for as long as he needed. He fashioned himself after a time and stretched them apart delicately. Arya gave him a warming smile and light chortle as she struck his shoulder, “My brother is a bloody _Targaryen_!” she beamed excitedly, “Sansa is going to flip once she finds out.” 

He allowed a soft chuckle before coming back to a sobering actuality. Jon's eyes quickly met Arya's as they loomed with severity, “That’s why I _don’t_ want Sansa to find out until _after_ this is all over. No one must know. I told you, and _only_ you, because all my life, you’ve been the one who loved me no matter what, regardless of who I was, or from whom I was born. You’ve always treated me like family, and I’ll never forget that for as long as I live.” His eyes wilted with sensations again as he rested his hand on her shoulder, austerely, “Can I trust you then to keep this a secret? Just like our father had his whole life, even until he was killed?”

Without a single hesitation, she assuredly nodded her head, “You have my word, brother.” 

He beamed genially back at her then and slapped her on the shoulder. “Thank you, Arya.”

As he motioned to lead Arya and head back from the Dragon’s den, Daenery’s arm whisked up against his, freezing him in his tracks, “Jon, would you mind if I had a word?”

He turned back to Arya who shot him a reassuring bow, “Go on, I can make my own way back. _Aegon_.” She winked. 

“I’ll see you off shortly.” He shot her a deathly scowl, Bowing to her in return. Arya then shifted and began making her way back to the castle, as he turned around to face Daenerys.

Her eyes gaped caringly back into his own, “How do you think that went?” She entreated softly.

“Better than I ever could have hoped.” Jon quipped sincerely. Daenerys smiled then and took his hand in hers.

“I’m thrilled.” Her gaze shifted steadfast then, “I hope you realize the trust I’m putting in you.”

Jon instantly squeezed her hands delicately in his own and peered intensely into her eyes, “I do.” He signed understandably, “Arya _won’t_ let us down; I know she won’t. I trust her with my life.” If she had any further reservations about the subject, she elected not to voice or show them then. 

Instead, she shifted to regard her dragons. “That isn’t the only matter of trust I wished to speak with you about.” Her voice shuddered almost imperceptibly as she held onto that thought and went quiet. 

His concern grew, and he moved to encompass her, coiling his arms around her waist. They were far enough away from the castle that he could care less about how they appeared at this immediate moment. “What troubles you?”

Daenerys nervously tore her gaze from the dragons before ordering up the courage to say her mind and met his eyes carefully, “I –“ she began softly as she swallowed, “I’ve decided to have Rhaegal travel with you on your journey south.” 

Her Dragon, _her son_ , traveling alone, _with him_? Jon's jaw went agape, and he grappled with finding the words. “Dany, I -, I _can’t ask_ that of you.” Daenerys tensely clutched him tighter as her emotions flooded through her. He could see her amethyst eyes water and loom to spill over. An evident conflict could be seen in them — a battle of trepidation and vulnerability. 

“You aren’t asking Jon. I want you to take him.” Her voice grew feeble, “I _need_ you to take him.”

Jon instantly tightened his embrace on her and flushed their chests together, a part of him was worried he was crushing her, but she didn’t make any objections. His mind was nearly spinning from the distress strewn across her face. The trust she was willing to place in him, first with his identity, and now her child, was truly overwhelming. He felt profoundly moved at the measure of faith she put in him, his heart swelled as he questioned what he did to deserve her. 

“Dany, I could never imagine taking him away from you. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if something were to happen to him.” 

At that, tears started to slip down her face as she gradually gazed back up at him and smoothed her fingers along his cheek, “What if something were to happen to _you_?” She sobbed, “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose the family I’ve just now gained.”

Without thinking, without equivocation, Jon drew his lips down to unite with hers. As they came together, he induced his hand up to brush the side of Daenerys’ face as he kissed her once more before softly leaning their heads together. “You won’t lose me, Dany. I _promised_ you.” He shifted his attention upwards and kissed her forehead, sweetly. “Are you _certain_ you wish me to bring Rhaegal?”

Daenerys silently nodded, he continued, “And are you certain he will be okay without you close by?”

Daenerys then turned and faced her sons again who were now laying down and in a deep slumber. Their soft snores were cutting up the air around them as they bellowed out steam, melting the ice and heating the air around them. 

“Rhaegal has grown exceptionally close to you. I meant what I said earlier. I know because I feel his connection with me growing fainter.” She said solemnly, continuing to look at the sleeping dragons. “You are the _only_ person in this world I _can_ , and _would_ , trust with my son, Jon. I know you’ll take care of him, just as he’ll take care of you, and I know you'll return to me with him.”

He spun her to face him once more, drawing their bodies together again, “You have my word, my Queen.”

Daenerys looked up at him affectionately and benevolently brought her hand to brush the side of his face, hesitant to inch her face closer to his, reluctant to disgrace the space she swore to give him, afraid he would pull away. Her doubts dissipated when, without pause, Jon worked to move closer as well. Time slowed to a crawl as their lips molded effortlessly together, and did not move to break apart. She sank easily into him and ran her arms along his chest. Jon made to congeal his embrace on her, as their lips stole another kiss from the other.

Abruptly a swath of warmth surrounded them both as their eyes darted open and they swiveled their heads to see. They both let out giggles as Rhaegal, who had awakened from his quick slumber, had migrated to them and curled his body encompassing them, leaving them enclosed in the protective shelter of the brilliant creature. The Dragon let out sweet hum's and coo's as Jon met its eyes. 

The flame glowed affectionately and lovingly in his chest. _Or was that his heart? Maybe it was both._ He couldn’t be fretted to discern as he let a heartwarming grin overtake his face and floated his hand to stroke the Dragon’s head.

_‘Protecting mother and father, are you?’_

The Dragon purred as Jon shifted back to Daenerys, who had never left his close embrace, and befell back to earth at her sobering gaze. She extended a small smile to him before working her hand smoothly across his chest. “We should get back to send the others off.” 

Jon groaned but acknowledged reluctantly. He endeavored his arm, and Daenerys connected it with her own, giving him a reassuring clasp as they walked out from Rhaegal’s entanglement, giving him loving pets on the way out, and commenced their short venture back to the castle.

* * *

As the two neared the gates of Winterfell, they attended several people standing by to see their departee’s off. Arya, Ser Davos, Gendry, and the Hound all were intermingled with a few passing faces before their concentration turned to him and the Queen as they accosted. The two split off from each other and made their way to the awaiting departee’s. Ser Davos approached Jon first. The rest of the group left them a buffer of space as to respect the farewells of the two.

Ser Davos wheeled in front of him and stretched his hand and submitting a smile and a nod, “Jon.”

Jon promptly moved and clasped the man's extended arm with his own, he nodded in return, and gave the older man a sympathetic look, “Davos, I never would’ve made it this far without you. I won’t make it far without you still. Promise me you’ll come back in one piece?” 

The older man gave a lively chortle before clapping Jon’s shoulder, “Lad, either way, you’d manage to survive without my old manners of thinking slowing you down.”

Jon shook his head resolutely at the man's words. In truth, Davos had speedily come to be an indispensable figure in his life. One he was appreciative of every day. “You’re the father I never had Davos. I’m not about to lose another in Kings Landing; you _will_ return.” Davos’ eyes shimmered with tears as Jon laid his hand affirmingly on his shoulder and drew them into a tight hug.

“I’ll be back, lad. I promise.” The Smuggler said softly as the two smoothly recessed their embrace.

Jon extended his arm and united it with the older man's once again, “I’ll see you soon, Ser Davos.” 

Before he could turn and greet others who were waiting for him, Davos dragged his awareness back one last time, “Jon, if I may?”

He rent his consciousness from gazing at Daenerys, who was conversing with Arya, “Of course?”

The man stood straighter, glancing between Jon and the source of his contested regard, “Life is short, Jon. If any man knows that, it’s you.”

Jon's eyes returned to gaze earnestly back at the Davos then, who dropped his voice and put his hand on Jon’s arm, “I’m not certain what you’re waiting for. Whether you are unsure of yourself or waiting for bloody permission.” Davos taunted before becoming serious again, “But everyone deserves happiness in life, Jon, even you, no matter how many times you may try and deny it.”

Jon’s lips migrated to riposte, but Davos stilled him with a wave of his hand, “ _If_ , for some godforsaken reason, you _are_ waiting on some, _divine_ permission to let yourself find joy, _Seven Hells_ , Jon, I give you _my permission_. Gods only know happiness doesn’t last forever; it’s always best to seize it while you can.” 

Jon persisted wordlessly for a moment, peering up at the older man before his gaze deliberately tore and centered back on Daenerys, who was still addressing with his little sister. Davos’ voice came from his side, as the man slapped his back again, “ _Seize your happiness_ , Jon. It’ll be okay, and you deserve it.” Davos granted him a big gracious smile and a wink. “You both do.”

It was Jon’s turn for his eyes to well up. He bit back the tears in such a public setting, but he shifted to face Davos once more, “Thank you, Davos. For everything.” He responded to the man’s heartfelt smile and nodded. The Smuggler returned his gesture before turning and ascending his horse to anticipate the rest of the group. 

Jon composed himself undeviatingly and made his way over to Daenerys and his sister to bid her farewell. Arya promptly directed to face him as he stepped alongside Daenerys. He solicited her an impetuous modest glance, “Are you _sure_ I can’t convince you to stay?”

Arya returned a placating gaze, “I have to do this, Jon.” 

He acknowledged, and accepted his defeat, “I’ll miss you. It feels like I just got you back.” 

Her face broke into a heartfelt smile before she rushed forth and embraced him with a fervent hug, “I can handle myself, brother, I promise. We’ll see each again sooner this time.” He squeezed her tightly back before she split his embrace. 

She then looked over to Daenerys, “Take care of him, won’t you?” She concluded with a light blow to his arm.

Daenerys awarded a laugh before resettling seriously, “With my life.” Jon glowed at her. 

Arya lips bent upwards and bowed before focusing on Jon once more, “See you after this is all done.”

“Aye, you will.” He drank back the emotions he was trying to reign in.

Arya gave one last cursory glance amid the two of them before turning and moving over to Sansa who was abiding to bid her farewell. At her absence, the Hound stepped up, towering over the two of them. Jon didn’t have much exposure to him, but he knew he traveled extensively with his sister before. 

“Keep my sister safe,” Jon said simply.

Sandor grinned at that, “Ain’t no dumb cunt goin’ to touch her. She doesn’t need me to make sure of that.” 

Jon couldn’t stifle a laugh as he curiously moved to probe the man's intentions, “What business do you have in Kings Landing?” 

Instantly, he lamented asking as the man’s face drew into a firm line. “Does it matter?” The man groveled plainly. 

Jon elected to abdicate his speech, parsing his lips and shaking his head slowly. Daenerys came in to throw him a safety net, “Thank you, Sandor, for traveling with Davos and the group. I’m sure they are most grateful for your assistance.” Sandor merely snorted, rolled his eyes, and moved away to mount his horse. 

She shot Jon a curious glare, and he meagerly shrugged his shoulders, they both suppressed a laugh. Gendry sauntered up next. 

“Your Graces.” He inaugurated, dipping his head.

Jon let his laughter loose then, before striking him in the shoulder, “Straighten up you bloody fool, I’m no King.” 

Gendry smirked and chuckled in return. “I’ll make sure Arya is safe, I promise.” 

Jon signed his head at the lad, “Thank you, Gendry, she trusts you, as do I.”

Gendry inclined his head once more and slid off to mount his horse. The assembled group was all aboard their mounts now, ready to depart for their extended excursion to Kings Landing. Jon hoped their plan was going to work. He nodded his dues to Davos, who lead the group, and waved them off as they started their trek down the road. A pit of anguish formed in his gut as Jon observed friends and family leave, unbeknownst whether he will see them again or not. He shoved the worry away and steeled his resolve. 

_He will see them again. He had to believe it._

Just then his name was summoned. He and Daenerys rounded to face in the call's direction. One of Jon’s commander ran through the parting organization and made his way to him.

“Dryden, what is it?” Jon urged, concerned at the man’s winded look.

Dryden swiftly seized his breath, “A man arrived while you were out, he says he’s come to see you and needs to converse with you immediately.”

Jon glanced over to Daenerys, who partook his puzzlement, “Did he tell you his name?”

_“Howland Reed.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dragon-flights, unveiled secrets, emotional farewells, and an untimely guest. 
> 
> Did Jon make a mistake telling Arya? Will he adhere to Davos' heartfelt advice? What could Howland Reed possibly want? Leave me a line below with what you think! I always relish every one of your comments. Until next time, <3 Undead


	6. Shadows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wraith comes forth from the shadows, as a Spider lurks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two days, two chapter updates. Crazy right? This one was really fun to write, hope you enjoy it as always!

* * *

_“Howland Reed.”_

Jon recognized the name. He promptly turned to Daenerys and stretched out to press her forearm, “You best come with me, Your Grace.”

Daenerys submitted no rebukes and simply nodded at him. Dryden motioned for them to accompany as he worked to shift through the people congregated at the gate and back into the courtyard. Once clear of the crowd, Dryden escorted them beyond the thoroughfare and up the stairs to Jon’s quarters. A Northman held guard, and Jon briskly waved him away.

Dryden directed to face him, “He’s abiding in your solar, Your Graces.”

Jon thanked the man and urged past him and into his quarters with Daenerys close behind. As they entered his solar, a modestly older gentleman, akin to Ser Davos, with short graying rust-colored hair and an evenly kept and graying beard instantly arose from the chair he resided in. He swiftly bound the distance to Jon and extended his arm.

“Your Grace, it is an honor to finally meet you.”

Jon caught the man’s arm courteously but respectfully shook his head, “I’m no King, Lord Reed.” He twisted his head and gestured to Daenerys who stood alongside to him, “Allow me to introduce you to Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen. Rightful Queen of the Seven Kingdoms.” She extended her hand to the man.

The man graciously accepted, and courtly kissed the back of her hand as he bowed politely. “Lord Howland Reed, Your Grace.”

Jon then signaled to the chair Howland had initially been occupied in, gesturing for him to take a seat. The man obligingly nodded and drew the chair to the middle of the room, accompanying Jon and Daenerys as they did the same. Daenerys solicited him an inquiring glance, sensing his tautness.

As they settled into their chairs, Jon shifted to Daenerys to alleviate some of her queries as he spoke, “Your Grace, Lord Reed is an old friend of House Stark. He served and fought alongside my father during Robert’s Rebellion. He and my father were the only two that returned from a group after disappearing into the Red Mountains of Dorne after the end of the war.” She nodded and began to wordlessly comb through the information.

Howland cleared his throat to break the stillness before he vocalized again, “Everything you say is correct.” The corners of the man's lips crept up. The atmosphere of the meeting was particularly stiff, held back even. He understood Howland Reed was a long-time friend of Ned Stark’s, but what he didn’t know was the extent of the role he played alongside his father in the war.

_Or, more importantly, why he had returned after all these years._

He elected to start to assemble the man’s intentions of arrival, “Lord Reed, you chose an _auspicious_ time to arrive at Winterfell after such a long absence. Would my hope be misplaced if I were to assume you are here to pledge fealty on behalf of House Reed to House Targaryen?”

Howland stirred uncomfortably in his seat, before adhering his gaze, “Lord Snow – if that pleases you?” Jon nodded. “I’m not sure how much your father talked about the rebellion, but, I’m certain there are, ... _details,_ he might’ve left out in the surplus of stories he must’ve shared about such times.” The man anxiously darted his eyes to Daenerys before proceeding, “Lord Snow, I thought it might be perhaps more appropriate if we spoke, ... _alone_?”

Jon instantly dreaded where the conversation appeared to be heading. “I can assure you, no matter the topic of discussion, you may speak freely in front of Her Grace.”

Howland swallowed thickly as he gradually leaned back in his chair, hesitantly, before resuming, “If I may ask, Lord Snow, to what extent do you know of your mother?” _Ah_ , _there it is._ Jon’s fist clenched rapidly under his cloak, he fought to keep his irritation secured at that moment.

_This is the last thing he needed._

Jon relaxed his rigid jaw, “I know enough.” He said matter-of-factly.

The man nodded deliberately before glimpsing between him and Daenerys repeatedly. Evidently, he was very unsettled with the prospect of potentially divulging Jon’s true parentage in the propinquity of the ‘ _last’_ Targaryen currently staring daggers at him.

Jon probed further, wanting to validate without a sensible doubt the information the man intended to bring him, “Lord Reed, do _you_ know something of my mother?”

Howland straightened up before answering shyly, “I was there when she died,” Jon’s eyes widened at that, “I was there alongside Ned Stark as he fought against the last Kingsguard of Rhaegar Targaryen, and I was there as the one who saved his life from Ser Arthur Dayne.”

Jon gulped suddenly, “That’s not possible, my father says he was the one that bested Ser Arthur Dayne? I’ve heard the legends.” He challenged.

Howland swung his head, gravely, “That isn’t the only falsehood your father has told you about that day.”

Jon concealed his head in his fists then. His frustration was swelling, he couldn’t imagine having to manage even a single other soul who knew of his true lineage. Daenerys laid her hand on his shoulder and pressed reassuringly before he promptly shot up and started to pace around the room.

“ _Seven hells!_ ” He shouted.

He trod fervently for another moment before he gradually came to a stop at the table next to them and leaned back on it, kneading his eyes with his index and thumb.

Howland let an instance pass by, offering another fleeting glance between Jon and Daenerys, analyzing their body language before his face paled, “You _know_ , … don’t you?”

Jon grudgingly nodded his head as he stared at Daenerys, “Aye, I do.” Howland seemed utterly astounded at that moment, dissipating all trace of composure he once held.

“How?” He gasped. Jon lamented.

He casually came back to sit in the chair he omitted before meeting the man’s gaze, “My friend Samwell Tarly came across their marriage annulment in a High Septon’s journal at the Citadel without even knowing what it meant at the time.” Howland didn’t seem too convinced at that, “And my brother, Bran, he’s a greenseer. In tandem with Samwell’s findings, he went back, and, ‘ _saw’_ my birth, and the promise Ned made to Lyanna.”

Howland, understandingly or not, gave a circumspect nod, “Well, this is a most _extraordinary_ turn of events I’d say.”

A moment of reticence forded between the three of them. Jon turned to look at Daenerys as she leaned forward to his ear to whisper something for only him to hear, “Jon, ask him why _now.”_ He returned her gaze and nodded.

“Lord Reed, why is it that you came to me with this information _now?_ Surely, you could’ve come at any other point in my life, perhaps saving me some trouble along the way?”

Howland breathed and shifted himself in his chair, “I _could’ve_ , but it wouldn’t have made much of a difference before.” He met Daenerys penetrating gaze then, “In all honesty, I came _now_ because, unlike then, you stand poised to take control of the Seven Kingdoms, and it’s only right that you knew the truth.”

Jon’s eyes sharpened and his infuriation simmered in his blood, “ _I_ stand poised?” His face rapidly contorting into that of revulsion, “You do realize _whose_ presence you are in the company of, correct?”

Howland resigned his face and made to apologize before Jon's voice proceeded to rise, “I’m not _poised_ to take anything, do you understand? Without Daenerys Targaryen, we’d both be dead right now, we’d _all_ be dead! If there is anyone in the realm deserving of the Iron Throne, it is _her_.”

Daenerys lips parted in astonishment at Jon’s faithful defense as she gaped at him admiringly, his words expunged any fragment of skepticism that dared still linger, even after his private vows. She witnessed first-hand how dedicated he was to her, and how true to his word he was. She instantly felt censurable she had ever challenged his resolve. She resettled herself, and silently vowed to thank him sincerely as soon as she got the chance.

Howland’s face crimsoned at Jon’s stern words, clearly not anticipating such brashness, “Jon, I -, I’m sorry, my intention wasn’t to upset you. I merely wanted you to know the truth. I didn’t have any ulterior motives for wanting you to know, other than simply making you aware, it’s what Ned Stark would’ve wanted.” His brow bent upright, and his eyes crinkled considerately in earnestness as Jon started to ease.

Jon sat back down after, unknowingly, arising from his seat. He composed himself once more, he had to be better at controlling his impetuous temper he knows. _Taming the dragon,_ he mused. He let out a long exhale, “I apologize for my outburst,” he elevated his head up and joined Howland’s serene gaze, “However, you _must_ understand the volatile potential my true identity poses in our current circumstances?”

Howland’s eyes lowered as he slowly acknowledged, “I do. I can understand how your identity could threaten your pledge to Her Grace if it becomes public knowledge.”

Daenerys declaimed up for the first time than with her royal determination, “It doesn’t just threaten Jon’s _pledge_ , my Lord, it could threaten my _life.”_

“I apologize, Your Grace, for being short-sighted and unsympathetic.” He dipped his head in shame.

Jon immediately brought the man’s attention back to him, “That is why this information will _not_ leave this room, Lord Reed, am I understood? On penalty of _death_.”

Howland promptly nodded before appending, “With all due respect, Lord Snow, Your Grace, I’ve kept this secret for the better part of two decades. I have no intention to break faith now. As I’ve said, I only wanted to make you aware of given our certain circumstances, and you alone.”

“Swear it.” Jon tightly fired back.

Howland momentarily seemed offended before biting back his pride, “I swear it.”

At that, Jon rose to his feet as Daenerys and Howland mimicked. He stretched his arm out to the man as they clasped them together again, “Will you be entertaining us with your presence for long, Lord Reed?”

The man gravely shook his head, “I’m afraid not, I must be heading back as soon as I can. House Reed needs many preparations for the Winter, even _without_ the looming threat of the dead.” Reed shot him an endearing look.

Jon cracked a laugh and clasped the man’s shoulder, “Stay a few days to rest, at least, you must be tired after your venture. I shall accompany you on the ‘morrow for your morning meal. It’s the least I can do to such an esteemed friend of my father’s.”

Howland’s face split open with a smile, “Thank you, Lord Snow, you honor me.”

Jon escorted him to the door of his quarters and bid the man farewell, shutting it behind himself and swiftly shifting to perch on the side of his bed. Daenerys supplanted immediately in pursuit and relaxed next to him. Before he even had the chance to anxiously press his eyes or furrow his hair, she smoothly took his hand in hers and rested it along her thigh. Jon felt her gaze on the side of his head and turned to face her.

Daenerys looked earnestly into him as she fondly let her fingers glide over the back of his hand still relaxing over her lap, “Thank you, Jon,” She dipped her head in guilt, “I feel ashamed I ever doubted your integrity.”

Jon gave her a stunted smile as he clasped her hand, “And I’m sorry this is only getting more and more complicated.” His eyes floated to the floor, and his voice became melancholy, “I trust those who know to keep it a secret, but, I’m still _terrified_. Each individual that knows elicits a dozen new ways things could go wrong.” He swung his head and relinquished his hand from her grasp, triumphantly bringing his head into his hands, and scrunching his bound hair.

Daenerys gave up attempting to tame his hands and alternately brought her own hands to his face as she directed him to look at her, “This just means we have to act together now, more so than ever. No matter _what_ is thrown at us, we’ll _always_ be stronger together.”

His lips broke into a pleasant smile as he drew his hand up to delicately stroke her soft cheek, “What did I do to deserve you?”

Daenerys features melted as her face twisted into a mischievous grin, she crept her face close with each interval as she spoke, “By being my _noble_ , … _stubborn_ , … _broody,_ … Nephew.” She deadpanned as she playfully plucked his nose with her finger with a wink, and joined his eyes teasingly from beneath her sly lashes.

Jon’s jaw crashed to the floor in jaunty disbelief at her words as he feigned indignation, “Are you _trying_ to make this harder than it needs to be?” Finishing with a lively amusement.

Daenerys dropped her voice to that tantalizing murmur that instantly stirred his loins and prompted his blood to pump rapidly, “ _Jon Snow, …”_ She casually shook her head as she inched closer to his face, “Why would I ever want to do that?”

He secretly bit down bellowing and rousing laughter, and instead, tightly clasped her hands in between his, giving it nullifying pats as his face parsed into an austerely-serious line. Opting to throw a bit of naughty banter right back at her. “I’ve _thoroughly_ enjoyed our time together, Daenerys.” He started mockingly, “It’s _such_ a shame it has to come to an end, so … _soon._ ” His voice wafted off to nothingness as he coolly raised himself off the bed and cast her a smooth and furtive wink from the side of his eyes.

Daenerys didn’t even let him get one step away from the bed before she bounded up and whirled in front of him, obstructing his path with her body, and securely setting her palm flat on his chest, rooting him in place.

She bit her lip as she gazed perilously into his beady eyes. “ _No man_ walks away from the _Mother of Dragons_.”

His focus snaked carefully along her sides, and the delectable curvatures of her frame as his hands roved to trace her figure in their wake. He licked his lips and edged even closer to her, grinding their bodies together, his inhalation stalled, and his heart raced as his body caught aflame. Her cool exhales flowed over him but did nothing to mitigate the inferno that had completely encapsulated him. Jon’s eyes floated down to her plump and wetted lips that hung lightly parted, hungrily, expectantly.

Jon couldn’t help the wide smirk that plastered his face. He welcomed the familiar sensation of her body, and the intoxicating fire that came with it that he had craved for so long as it coaxed through him in resonating and unstoppable tides.

“Is that so?” He murmured, she trembled as he edged closer so their lips were practically touching, “Then it’s a good thing I’m no mere _man_ , … but a _dragonwolf_.”

Daenerys suddenly surged forward and finally closed the already fleeting gap between them as her lips crashed on his. The two instantly melted and mewed at the impact. Daenerys’ mouth parted at his intimate and destitute plea at her gates, and Jon quickly found himself losing all grasp on his senses as his tongue began to mischievously dance with hers. Daenerys gave residual moans and gasps as his hands ran all along her body, scorching it in their wake and setting her ablaze.

Instinctually, Jon trailed his mouth to her neck and sprinkled kisses along the span of her throat, just like how she relished it during their previous time together; eliciting arousing and hiking whimpers of pleasure as he did so. Daenerys ran her palms to his chest and impatiently thrust him on top of his full bed. Jon immediately ran his hands up and down her sides and hips as she climbed on top of him, eventually trailing them up to hover over her ample breasts that rested just beneath her queenly attire, demanding attention.

Their mouths never ceasing their passionate clash, he impetuously initiated a new front of attack with his fingers on the clasps of her dress and frantically impelled to render them useless, preparing to _tear_ them if they dare thwart his insatiable appetite.

Suddenly the worst, most egregious sound conceivable tore them from their insensibilities.

_A knock at the door._

“Lord Snow, have you seen Daenerys? I wish to speak to her.” Tyrion’s muffled voice anathematized them.

Daenerys glanced down at him, still resting beneath her, with her brilliantly beseeching violet eyes and groaned with deprived desperation, nearly seething as she grit her teeth as she whimpered in his ear, “By all that is good, by all your forsaken gods, the old, the new, _please,_ send him _away_.” Jon found he took immense wicked pleasure in her desirous plea. His lips edged into a mischievous grin as he raised himself up to meet her form still straddled on top of him, and stole another kiss from her honeyed lips. Daenerys saw the look of resignation in his eyes and submitted a defeated groan.

Grudgingly, he edged himself out from under her and straightened his cloak upon himself and flattened out his gambeson and breeches. She shot him a jaunty scowl as she rose and flushed her dress out as well. Once she was presentable, she gave him a deathly glare and a firm nod. He bound to the door and pried it open.

Tyrion’s face didn’t betray any inward surprise, if he had any, “ _Ah_ , there you are, Your Grace.”

Daenerys glowered at him and answered him with a quipped tone, “Yes, my Lord, what is it?”

“I wanted to discuss our new arrival, will you walk with me?” He said, designedly eluding Jon’s eyes, presumably in fear of being cut down where he stood.

She sighed before nodding grudgingly, “Very well.”

Languidly, Daenerys stepped outside his door before gazing back to Jon with entreating earnestness, “Will I see you for supper later, Lord Snow?”

“I will try my best, Your Grace.” He gave her a sweet bow and a smile.

A moment later, Daenerys and Tyrion moved away and off to their conversation as Jon closed the door regretfully. He pitched against the door once it shut and laid his head back against the wood and heaved a deep sigh as he shut his eyes. Exasperation traveled through him at the abundance of arrangements and reports Jon had to coordinate and pen to his subordinates in anticipation of their march in a few days.

As well as his resignation at the fact that the next soul that dare interrupted them will be split in two by his own hand with Longclaw. Jon snickered quietly to himself before settling himself down at his desk and wetting his quill before starting to write.

* * *

**Moments earlier…**

The spider surveyed and paid acute consideration as the Queen, and Lord Snow briskly walked through the thorough-fare and made their way to the Lord’s chambers where their new arrival was just housed. A new arrival who had presented himself as none other than _Lord Howland Reed_ when the spider convened his brief acquaintance before the Northern guards guided him away. The assumed same, Howland Reed, who had been the only other survivor after traveling south with Ned Stark, past the Red Mountains, and into Dorne at the end of Robert’s Rebellion.

The Spider’s infatuation grew at this unusual and anomalous twist of events that transpired before him. Throughout the young man’s upbringing, Jon Snow had fascinated him remarkably. The landscape encompassing the boy’s conception, a conjectured faultfinding lapse of judgment from an otherwise immaculately distinguished husband, had always given the Spider pause when putting considerable thought into the circumstances.

Varys’ little birds had done meticulous digging and investigative operations all those years ago to exhume as much erudition as possible in regards to the young man’s true parentage because only those naïve enough would believe what was being proclaimed held the entirety of the story. Murmurs of Dorne, Starfall, Rhaegar Targaryen’s Kingsguard, a dead Stark girl, a newborn son, and now… Howland Reed. It all swirled wildly in the spider’s intricate web. He felt as imminent as he ever had been to conclusively solve one of the realm’s most well-kept secrets.

The Spider has had his fair share of suspicions and theories over the years, of course. He had heard stories of Ned Stark’s brief obsession with that of Ashara Dayne during his time around the Tourney at Harrenhal. Perhaps, the man had sympathetically taken in the woman’s child after killing her brother and prompting her unruly death? Complications with that theory arose as she was said to have perished with the child if the information was correct. Mayhaps that was part of the deception on the part of Ned Stark? Mayhaps, this Jon Snow was _indeed_ from some uncomplicated whore from any hole-in-the-wall?

 _No._ The spider shook his head.

Howland Reed, one of the only men left alive who knew of the events that transpired those fateful days in Dorne that provoked Ned Stark to arrive North with his dead sister, and a son, would not have returned and directly demanded the private council of Jon Snow to simply tell him the same story he’d been told his whole life.

The events of the past few months since the young Northerners' arrival at Dragonstone had naturally brought the unsolved mystery perpetually back into the forefront of the Spider's mind. Right as he began to settle the figurative pieces of the puzzle back into their box, ready to resign himself that he was no closer to discovery than two decades prior, he had overheard of Jon Snow’s supposed brief encounter with Daenerys’ dragons on Dragonstone. A rumor, of how the broody Northman had somehow achieved to _touch_ the aggressively protective and territorial black-winged beast with _ease_. A feat, which no other living soul had performed, and, if true, held impossibly dizzying implications.

Since then, Varys had seen the young man gliding alongside Daenerys around the castle on top the green-winged beast, giving exuberant and roaring hollers as he did so. If there was any lingering inquisition of the cogency of such a tale _back then_ , it was instantly put to death when the Northern ‘ _bastard’_ had not only succeeded to touch one of the great dragons but _ride_ one. On _reoccurring_ occasions.

_No. There was no longer any room for coincidence in the transpired series of events._

The mirage was obstructed no longer. A mystery that had long lay dormant, forgotten to the world, now had enough shards to begin conjuring up a clear picture. All the Spider had to do was simply confirm his suspicions. Howland Reed’s purpose at Winterfell would be the last masterstroke he needed before he finished the painting that had remained fragmentary for decades.

_The Spider was not going to let this opportunity slip past him, all he needed was the help of a friend._

He shifted to the imp standing alongside him on the walkway overlooking the courtyard, “Curious, isn’t it, that one of Ned Stark’s most private confidantes chose to turn his head up _now._ After all this time?”

Tyrion pondered quietly, contemplative in his own right as he proceeded to lean forward on the railing, nodding somewhat, “I take it you have a few theories?”

“I wonder, after such a vacancy, what might provoke the appearance of such a man?” He stared at the chamber door that thinly segregated him from the confirmations he surmised was no doubt was being transacted within its confines.

Tyrion seemed lost in thought, “Perhaps something to do with the Long Night?” He swung his head, “No, certainly he would’ve appeared earlier if he had pertinent knowledge.”

Varys was jovial the man partook his enthusiasm, and nodded in arbitration, “Whatever brings the wraith forth from the shadows, the man covets the importance of its relevancy.”

The imp propelled himself off the railing and gave Varys an inciting gaze, arching his brow, “One might contend that _such_ erudition would be deemed worthwhile for the loyal advisors to the Queen to possess.”

The Spider answered his gaze, scheme growing into formation, “Converse with Daenerys after Lord Reed parts, inquire about the essence of their reception.” Tyrion looked up, determinedly at him before Varys continued, “I will go to speak with Reed myself.”

The Spider’s mind raced wildly at this extraordinary opportunity bestowed to him on a silver platter. ‘ _Chaos is a ladder’_ a wise old friend once recounted to him. All his life, the Spider has prowled in the shadows, controlling and puppeteering lords and kings, some more successfully than others. His allegiance was to the folks of the realm, and he felt it his responsibility to insure the _right_ ruler was to lead them. Which, incidentally, often meant himself, … although, _diffusely._

His consciousness floated to Daenerys Targaryen. _Was she the right ruler?_

The Spider didn’t have any skepticism really at the notion, he knew Daenerys was a just and fair young woman. A young woman who had suffered immensely starting up and vowed to never let the same cruelties befall upon those she resides over. She had ambitious goals and aspirations, and the unwavering determination to see them through. The Spider could never doubt that.

_Perhaps, if she was Queen, she would be the right ruler for the realm._

The problem therein lies with the tenacity and steeliness of Daenerys Targaryen. That very same blazing resolve that she had cultivated over a lifetime of struggles, and overcoming each one. The Spider recognized he had no chance of trying to work his way under her skin and to bend her to his will, much like he had Robert, or even, Aerys.

_At least, to an extent, but, ..._

His attention then drifted to the source of his current profound interest. _Jon 'Snow'._

The Spider knew of the virtuous young man that had captivated his curiosity for the better part of his life. His achievements and accolades impressed him. However, if his suspicions were correct, the boy had a future more extraordinary than that of a bastard, and instead, of _royalty_. _A Crown. A Realm to rule._

The corner of the Spider’s mouth twitched up at the thought of such an inexperienced and culpable ruler on the throne. He could only begin to imagine the pliable, ‘King Jon.’ A king easily manipulated, quickly swayed, and insecure since birth.

The Spider couldn’t begin to fathom his prosperity in this improbable series of events. He knew it wouldn’t be a particularly permissible promenade to fulfill his ambitions, but then again, when was it ever. The challenge would be dispensing with Daenerys. He had his methods, but he also understood he had to act expeditiously. Daenerys would never willingly give up her life’s goal, and if she found out his plan, she would fulfill her threatening promise. For that, the Mother of Dragons had to go. _And soon._

Jon’s chamber door reopened on command, and the most significant man in the realm stepped out to be escorted to his place of stay. Varys hastened a glance over at Tyrion, “Go, my friend, we shall convene later.”

He passed around the imp as he made to descend the stairs and promptly strode forward to intercept the departing man, “Lord Reed, If I may have a moment?” The Lord broke his stride before twisting back to face the Spider and extending a wary acceptance. The Spider's lips chanced to resemble a hint of a smile as he eagerly moved up to the man and began to work his imperceptibly innocent interrogation.

* * *

Daenerys grudgingly moved out of Jon’s quarters and submitted in step with Her Hand who had just cut them from their moment alone. She bit back the temptation to scowl acidulously, instead, endeavoring to placate a regal mask as she craned her neck to face Tyrion as he lanced into his array of inquires.

“Your Grace, how did your reception with our latest guest go over?”

She smiled before responding plainly, “The meeting was very productive, Lord Tyrion.”

He didn’t seem inveigled by that rebuttal in the slightest, he instantly switched tactics, “The man you spoke with, I’m told, is _Lord Howland Reed_ , is he not?” His gaze tentatively glanced over to her.

Daenerys chose to remain hushed and simply nodded her head. He continued, “How much do you know of the _history_ of the man, Your Grace?”

Meditating internally, she already knew this was going to a conversation she had to navigate with graceful poise, “I’m afraid I’m not well familiarized on the man’s deeds.” Daenerys decidedly took the reins then, and probingly engaged his eyes, “I take it, _you_ have an understanding of the man, Lord Tyrion?”

His eyes sneaked away and persisted facing forward as they resumed leisurely walking by the courtyard. “Only what scarce information I’ve heard throughout the years.”

“And, what information have you _heard_?” She queried, arching her brow pryingly.

Tyrion’s lips parsed and he appeared to grapple to thoughtfully devise what to say, “I’ve heard the story that Howland Reed was one of the men that ventured south to the Red Mountains alongside Ned Stark.” He delicately started, before landing a deathly blow, “The _only_ other man to return alive with Lord Stark, his deceased sister, and a _babe_.”

Daenerys instantly chilled, breathe stirred and heart quickened, her mind began to churn wildly. _He can’t know, how could he? It’s not possible._ She pushed down her anxieties, she knew she had to steer the conversation away very promptly.

She cleared her throat, “I presume Lord Snow would be most interested in the prospect of learning about the heroic tales of his father, if, the man would be so gracious as to divulge such information.” She offered the best-placating smile she could as her voice tarried with her customary Royal intonation.

“I would think so too.” Tyrion politely nodded before glimpsing at her then, abandoning any façade and drilling to the point he had come to deliberate, “Has he consulted with you the purposes of his visit?”

Daenerys’ mind began racing for a plausible justification, _anything_ to veil the man’s true aims, “Lord Reed has come to swear fealty on behalf of House Targaryen.” Was the best she could come up within a passing moment's notice. She instantly lamented it and how unpropitious it appeared.

Tyrion gave a gradual nod then, choosing to abdicate his acceptance, or disbelief, in her statement. “Good,” he extended dryly, “we’ll need all the help we can get when it comes to defeating my sister.”

She swallowed thickly, evading his sly gaze and shifting the topic one more, “I hope your brother has been beneficial in his aide in devising plans to deal with her?”

Tyrion nodded curtly before asserting simply, “He has, Your Grace.”

Daenerys gazed at him warily, with inspective temperament. Clearly, the man was holding _something_ back. The anxiety in her chest continued to manifest. “Good. I expect to hear about any new information as timely as possible.” She noted blankly. Tyrion remained withdrawn.

The two continued to walk in silence until they arrived at the feast hall, which was bustling with enterprise and joyous crowds. Upon entrance, startlingly, Tyrion bid her farewell for the evening and omitted Daenerys to her own vices. With no sign of Jon to be found, she slowly made her way the head table and sat to start her meal. A server appeared and brought out a voluptuous plate of food and placed it before her. She praised him generously and poured herself some wine and took unhurriedly sips. Her appetite firmly waned from the maelstrom undulating through her frame and cognizance.

The otherwise soothing and rich allure of the liquor did nothing to pacify her rampant and evanescent thoughts. Her brief talk with Tyrion had left her profoundly displaced. She knew Her Hand was designedly investigating her with an acute curiosity about her and Jon’s latest appearances, and now he was proceeding to do the same about their most recent arrival. She endeavored to contemplate, but couldn’t quite ascertain the profundities of his information. If Tyrion somehow _did_ know of the truth of Jon’s parentage, unquestionably he would’ve addressed her about it and made her aware.

 _Wouldn’t he?_ She swayed her head, _No. There’s no way Tyrion could know…_

_…But… if he did, what would he do?_

Daenerys attempted but couldn’t shake the drowning feeling in her gut. Dread threatened to grip her, but she momentarily occupied herself with the cooling food in front of her. _Jon, Sam, Bran, Arya,_ administering the brief list over in her head, _That’s all that who knows, no one else_. Soundlessly assuring herself. Her solicitudes drifted from Tyrion to her other, more enigmatic, _advisor_.

The one who had already once contributed information to have her killed under the usurper's reign during her juvenility, however unsuccessfully. Even though they’ve reconciled in their comparatively fleeting association, she felt no more knowledgeable about the man who was the Spider than she did on the very first day she met him. Found no more comfort than she had before he gave his oaths of fealty. She tried to find solace in the fact that the man understood the consequences of his actions should he decide to show fault in his commitment to her.

_But would that be enough?_

Her chest constricted. The whole thing was a house of cards just waiting to be knocked over. She perceived unquestionably that if anyone were the most perilous with Jon’s truth, it would be the Master of Whispers. She breathed intensely as she shifted the plate of unfinished food away and drained the rest of her goblet.

It was getting late, and diners had begun to slowly trickle out. Daenerys glanced down the empty head table as her mind drifted to the space void beside her and the person who presence she was sorely missing.

 _Jon_.

_Did she take things too far earlier today? Was that why he avoided coming to dinner?_

Apprehension soon turned into guilt as Daenerys reflected on her interactions with him recently. She felt a sinking bout of reprehension at the possibility that Jon might consider that she might not be taking his space she vowed to give him, seriously. Just days prior, she swore time and understanding and made a mental note to let him be the one to come to her when _he_ felt comfortable.

Daenerys swallowed down the bitter thought and bowed her head down. Regret surged through her, she couldn’t throw herself selfishly at him when he hadn’t even had enough time to come to terms with things yet.

_She made a promise, and she was going to keep it._

With a new-found resolve, she stirred out her chair and arose. Swiftly, her feet carried her out of the nearly empty hall and into the oozing shade of the night sky that blanketed the courtyard. Fleeting passerby's and lanterns broke up the otherwise stoic tranquilness that inhabited the castle at night. Daenerys proceeded forward and made to retire in her chambers for the night. As she rounded in front of her door and twisted the handle to unlock it, she froze in concern. Ambivalence tore at her mind as she conceived of how her abrupt distance might unintentionally afflict Jon, and cause him to hurt, and worry. She exhaled and slowly retracted her hand from the knob, devising her decision.

_She had to go and tell him. She wanted to apologize._

Daenerys slowly rent her gaze and glanced to her right and peered down the walkway at the door to Jon’s chambers whose resided next to hers. Deliberately, she urged her feet to move, and within a moment, she found herself rooted in front of his door. A warm and gentle amber light coaxed itself underneath the doorframe.

_He was still awake._

Daenerys reigned in her hitched breath and leaned forward to twist the handle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think of Howland Reed so far, is he genuine in his earnest intentions? What do you make of the Spider and his plots, and is Tyrion on board? How do you think Jon will react to Daenerys?
> 
> Thanks for reading everyone, what'd you think? Let me know down below! 
> 
> <3 ~U


	7. Reclamation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daenerys pays Jon a visit to discuss her latest reservations in her mind and worries how he might handle the news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy it.

* * *

Daenerys instinctually motioned to twist the knob to let herself in before she chastised herself, and halted her hand just as it floated carefully over the handle. Closing her eyes briefly, Daenerys shook her head. _I came here out of respect, let it start here._ Deliberately she lifted her hand and let it knock thrice on the door as her breath stirred apprehensively in her chest.

A moment later, the door creaked open, and Jon stood dressed in his typical clad gambeson as his eyes met hers. The corner of his lips upward immediately at the sight of her.

“Oh, so _now_ you knock, _Your Grace?_ ” He taunted as his face bent into a lightening smirk.

Jon drove the door wide open and stepped aside, admitting her entrance. Daenerys promptly accepted his invitation. As she ushered into his room, she set her hand on the door and smoothly pushed it closed until it resoundingly _clicked_ shut, before shifting to face him once more. Jon’s face had transformed into a frown.

“I’m sorry I missed you at dinner, Dany.” He uttered somberly as turned and gestured to his desk by the window still plastered with papers, “I lost track of time.” He cast his head down.

Daenerys took a meager step forward and wrought his attention then, her hands still folded in front of her as she began to speak, “You do not need to apologize, Jon. It’s I who came to apologize.”

He cocked his head to the side slightly, perplexed, as he strode closer to her, “Apologize?” Jon snorted, “What do _you_ have to be sorry for?”

It was her turn to bow her head down as Daenerys twisted away from him and urged her hands to hold herself. Her voice was faint when she finally spoke. “I promised you I’d give you time to come to terms with how you are feeling.” She peered at over her shoulder, “I feel like I haven’t been giving you much of a choice.” Jon’s face looked closely at hers, full of questions and confusion as she turned to face away once again, not able to bear to see the storm in his eyes.

Daenerys shook her head in contempt and revulsion at her lack of consideration. Her voice grew soft, and tears threatened to pool in her eyes as she grappled with herself to finish to statement she had prepared mentally before arriving. “I think -,” she choked back, “I think we should limit our company until you’ve had proper time to come to terms with everything, and made your decision regarding us.”

Truthfully, it was the last thing she could ever want. However, she couldn’t deny Jon’s intoxicating allure that she couldn't combat whenever she was in the presence of him. If he needed space, and time, to come to terms with everything, that was never going to happen if they kept seeing each other so frequently. The only thing that would happen in that stead is she would only gravitate closer and closer to him, as she’s done ever since she had first met him. This man, this broody Northman, has wholly transfixed her, encapsulated her into a cascading vortex that she was powerless to escape.

Suddenly a tear escaped her fortification and slipped down her face. She slammed her eyes shut and tried to bite back her emotions. To stop being the enamored and naïve young girl, and instead be the Queen she needed to be…

… that is until Jon’s arms wordlessly came around her sides and enveloped her tightly, pressing his body upon her back. She could feel his heated breath down her neck, and it instantly eased her.

Daenerys turned in his embrace and gazed up at him. Jon was gawking longingly, lips poised and parted slightly. Her cheeks flushed as she met his gaze for a moment before she quickly averted her eyes to the floor. Fearful of what she imagined she glimpsed in his intense and depthless pools. With a new breath, she nervously crept her eyes back up and peered deep into his own again; her heart was screaming at her to affirm if what she saw was only a fleeting expression that graced his features momentarily, or something more profound.

Her mind raced uncontrollably with trepidation and insecurity, terrified of what’s Jons' next action may be — petrified Jon would tear away from her again. She didn’t know if her heart could stand that torment a second time. Daenerys mustered all her courage to sooth her reservations, but all of her inner inhibitions came crashing down when Jon cast her disparaging thoughts away as he breathlessly pulled them closer together. Her chest was now resting comfortably along the length of his torso. The distance between them but a waning ember in their memory as she warmed from the familiar warmth leeching from his body.

Staring up and into him, the emotion brimming just under the surface was palpable and unmistakable. Daenerys' mouth parted slightly, faltering to verbalize what it was she had considered saying as the affectionate intensity of his constant gaze made her heart tumble and her mind to numb.

As she gazed into his eyes, she saw no storm, she saw no uncertainty, no reservedness…

She saw only warmth, devotion, and… _love_.

“Jon, I…” was the best she barely murmur before Jon’s lips molded onto hers.

His arms snaked down to her waist in a flash as Daenerys flung her arms to hook around his neck to pull him inexorably into their cascading kiss. The raging inferno that was his body pressed against hers tore down any withheld doubts and control. She deepened their contact, her tongue playing at the entrance of his mouth, and savoring him as he immediately admitted her entry, warm and wanting.

The longed-for taste of him causing her senses to blur and her ears to pound. Needy dampness began to pool between her legs. _How long has it been? Weeks? Over a month?_ Their moans and sighs of arousal blended with their symphony of delight as Jon inched her backward and pressed her up against the wall. Their lips never ceased the dance of dragons.

Getting frantic for air, she pushed against his chest, moving him just enough away to catch her breath. Her arms still flush against his torso; she looked once more into his eyes that peered hungrily back into her own.

“I don’t understand,” She faintly wisped, “I thought –“

“No more thinking,” Jon hushed her sweetly as he pressed his finger delicately to her lips and moved his face closer and nuzzled his nose against hers, “I only want to think about the woman before me that I came back from the dead to find.”

She went breathless as he brought his knuckles up to gingerly caress her cheek, she comfortably leaned into his smooth touch. His half-lidded eyes were lax and gaped continually into her own.

“I want this,” His low rough voice whispered out, “I want _you_.” Their noses gently twirling as his lips lightly grazed hers. Daenerys’ breath caught in her throat at his words. Her heart soared, and her emotions threatened to overcome her as they loomed like a monolithic tidal wave.

“I want _us_.”

Daenerys' heart palpitated uncontrollably as the naïve enamored girl screamed to the surface, no longer confining to be restrained and kept away. She couldn’t care to fight it or clash with it anymore. Her eyes ran between each of his as tears began to fall without interruption. He tenderly wiped them away as they streamed down her face.

“ _I love you_ , Dany,” Jon breathed, “I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember. I’ll never run away from it ever again.”

Daenerys resigned herself that the tears weren’t going to stop anytime soon at this point. She instantly pressed herself forward into him. Her soft lips returned to taste, pluck, and pull as she pushed back against Jon’s chest, causing him to take a few steps back. She diligently ran her fingers down to his belt. Moving with unprecedented urgency, as she eagerly began working the clasp. Meanwhile, Jons scrambled for the bindings of her dress, forcefully untying what he could and ripping through the ties that gave him too much trouble.

With a satisfying _click,_ Jon’s belt came undone, and she shoved it to the floor. He lifted his gambeson over his head, and unbuttoned his tunic, throwing it across the room, before going right back to work on her dress. The final lacings come undone, she shrugged the dress off her shoulders and let it flow smoothly to the ground, pooling around her feet. She stepped out and ran her fingers over his bare chest. He let out a soft whimper at the touch of her sensual caress.

Finally, she slowly slipped out of her shift and leggings and presented all of herself to him. He returned the favor as he stepped out of his breeches and his boots, leaving them both completely bare. They both stood like this for a moment, gawking upon each other, like it was their first time being together.

At least, before their hungry gazes could be satiated no longer.

She lunged at him, wrapping her arms around his neck and plundering his mouth once more, unable to withstand being separated even a moment longer. His arms wrapped around her hips and pulled her tightly against his body, crushing her, but she didn’t care. She edged him backward until the back of his legs hit the side of the bed as she playfully pushed him down onto his back and rapidly raced on top of him to straddle him with her hips.

Hands roaming all around his torso, she arched her chest down and pressed it against his. Gooseflesh rose stiffly, among other things, as her full breasts shelved on his muscular frame. She scoured her eyes across his body, recalling every familiar rolling hill and mountain of toned, rippled, and corded muscle and that she committed to memory. She left a scorching heat in her wake as she slowly tore her gaze up to look back at him, his black pools beamed needily back as he panted heavily. She allowed herself to catch her breath before a wicked grin crossed her face. She angled her head and began trailing fiery kisses down his neck to his chest, pecking each one of his scars in sequence before slowing over the injury that was over his heart. She caressed it gently with her finger before placing a tender and affectionate kiss.

Before she knew what was happening, he wrapped his arms around her and flipped himself on top of her. She gasped as he settled himself between her legs. His length was teasingly nestling against her, just below her slick center which pooled with wetness and want. She was ready for him, _desperate_ even.

“Jon…” she whimpered, “If you, _ever,_ make me beg for you again, _I’ll burn you alive_ .” She whispered seductively as she bit his ear gently. She returned her gaze to his eyes and found the beast had awakened. _The Wolf._ She grinned devilishly.

He began kissing her fiercely before trailing down her neck, throat, and chest, twirling his tongue across her breasts leaving a searing inferno in his wake as he continued down the length of her shuddering body as she moaned his name. He seized her breasts and kneaded them with his free hand as his tongue drifted closer to her slick center, she whimpered. She couldn’t take it anymore.

Knowing he had kept her waiting long enough; he drove his head the last distance. Glistening her already wet and needy folds with his agile tongue. She cried loudly as a tremor of pleasure shot through her. Jon began working his way in circles, swirling around her sensitive nub and driving her up the wall. Lips sucking, tongue feasting, she clawed at his unkempt and luscious curls like a vicious beast trapped in a cage. She slammed her eyes shut, and she swore she could see stars as she felt herself building and tensing. Her body trembling under his relentless attack, “Oh gods!” She managed to yell out as her body could take no more.

Her body shattered with pleasure, sending shockwaves rippling through every fiber of her being as Jon pushed her over the edge. The residual waves were crashing into her again and again. She relaxed before she crumpled back down to earth. Panting desperately for air, her head was still spinning, Jon quickly was back up to meet her with his greedy mouth. Lips parting instantly and allowing entrance; she kissed him again before pulling slowly back and looking ferociously into his depthless eyes.

“I want you, Jon,” She ordered, words dripping with rich flavor. “ _All_ of you.”

He seductively nibbled her ear as he gradually lowered his length to her entrance as she moved to bit her lip softly, “What you command, I will obey.”

With only an instant’s hesitation, she felt him gradually slide his length between her folds and sheathe himself slowly, tastefully, until he buried inside her. She let out an audible cry as she felt him stretch and fill her to her core. She was utterly lost in the moment, lost _in him._ She hoarsely cried his name, and he gave delectable moans of his own.

Seizing her for all her worth, Jon filled her again and again. Each clash of their bodies, each thrust, more intoxicating than the last. She dug her fingers into his back and arse and spread her legs further, wanting more of him inside her. He obliged without hesitancy and drove himself deeper, further than he thought possible. Taking all of him, she could feel him hitting her spot and pushing her closer to falling over the edge again.

“Oh, Dany…” He cried across her lips.

She edged him closer and tightened herself around him, driving him crazy as she knew he loved as she lost her hold on reality in tandem. The dance of the dragons could not be prolonged any longer; she quivered against him as her walls came crashing down. She was tightening further around him, sending pulsating waves and driving him over the edge. She felt Jon finally give in as he spilled his seed into her with a few last pumps. He panted and shook before claiming her lips with his again.

He rolled to the side and onto his back. Chest rising and falling rapidly. Sweat gleaned off his immaculate body. She turned to her side and snuggled her body across his chest and ran her fingers tenderly across his chiseled figure, his broad shoulders, and his dipped abs. She relished feeling his rapidly beating heart under her fingertips as his breathing began to slow and return to a normal pace. He wrapped his arms around her and held her firmly against his body.

She savored the way they fit like puzzle pieces. The warmth of his body against hers coaxed her into a graceful lull. She let her eyes drift shut slowly then, allowing herself to listen to the steady rhythm of the heart that beat beneath her. She opened her eyes and moved to steal a kiss from his plump lips before laying her head back down on his torso and gazing up at him. She brought her hand up to run along the edges of his cheek and jaw.

Her satiated curiosity had slowly returned, “What, ... changed? If, ... I may ask?” She softly wisped as she smoothly trailed her finger down and dragged it in comforting circles along his chest.

Jon didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he began traveling his fingers along her back. She hummed resonantly as his nails scratched and soothed her body. His gaze fixed contemplatively on the ceiling for a moment before finally relaxing back on her.

“I couldn’t remember the last time I did something for myself.” He answered solemnly and honestly. “Everything I’ve done, for as long as I can remember, was _for someone,_ or _something_ .” His voiced trailed low, reflective, “I’ve never truly felt in control. Never able to truly have something because _I_ wanted.”

He brushed his hand sweetly against her cheek, and she couldn’t help but birth a sunny smile upwards at him. Her tears threatened to spill over once more. “And you want _us?_ ”

Without hesitation, he nodded before smiling sweetly back, “More than _anything_.”

She rose from his chest then and moved her hand to hold his face as she molded their lips together once more. She infused him with a lengthy and passionate kiss as he brought his hand to rest over hers, she gaped into his eyes and observed he had more to say. She casually leaned away for him to continue.

He inhaled deeply and let his gaze drift forward, “Sitting in the crypts, looking up at my mother’s statue, reflecting on her and father’s love, I felt _guilty_.” He cast his eyes downward, a solemness overtaking the tender devotion of moments prior.

She immediately sat up straighter and looked questioningly into his eyes. Holding her palm on his chest but staying silent so he could resume. He regained his gaze to her once more; she made sure hers beamed with the utmost of understanding for whatever he had to say, wanting to be there to help him in any way she could.

“ _Love is the death of duty.”_ He exhaled. Her heart pricked at his unsettling words. Uncertainty coursed through her mind, anxious to hear him finish his train of thought.

“Rhaegar ran off with my mother and started a war, getting thousands killed because he didn’t stop to think about the ramifications of his actions.” He paused, momentarily in thought, “Ever since I’ve found out, I’ve become paralyzed by the guilt that their _love_ brought the realm to burn. Paralyzed by fear - what if _something similar_ could happen again?” He ran his hand gently along her cheek, “I want you, Dany. I want you more than _anything_ .” His eyes watered, as his voice cracked, “but I’m so _scared_.”

Her chest tightened at the sight of seeing him so distressed. Being there within the presence of his vulnerability, she knew she had the privilege of being there for him, to comfort him, to help him through this. _She could, and she would._ She pushed herself up and brought her hands to cup his face.

“I’m scared _too,_ Jon. We both have enormous responsibilities. Weights on our shoulders that only we must bear.” Her voice sang with tender love, coaxing her sincerity through him. “We haven’t let anyone down. We‘ve brought them _together_. We did it to save the rest of the world from a threat they cast aside as merely childhood stories and, _we succeeded._ ” She leaned her forehead on his, her violet eyes gazing deep into his obsidian pools. “We don’t have to face it alone. We achieved what no one thought possible. And we did it _together_. You and I will make the world _better_ than the one we found. A _good_ world, a _just_ world.”

She rocked him softly in her hands. His lips twitched.

“How do you know?” He croaked shakily, barely a murmur, “How do you know it’ll be good?”

“Because _we_ know what is good.”

“I don’t.” He choked as he shook his head. Tears were streaming down his face as he reiterated even softer, weaker.

Seeing Jon like this destroyed her. She caressed him and stroked his cheek. He whimpered as his insecurity, his self-doubt, his loathing came flooding back to him, washing over him like a wave. She couldn’t let it take hold of him; she _wouldn’t_. Her own eyes began to well at the sight of him so lost and conflicted. She wanted to help him more than anything in the world, to be the light that guided him through the maelstrom.

“You do. You _do,_ ” Daenerys gave Jon a reassuring squeeze before reaffirming, “You’ve _always_ known.”

She offered as much conviction as she could. Desperate to see her Jon return and to banish away the agonizing doubt that plagued his mind. She cursed those who had brought him so much pain in his life. Running her hands across his luscious curls and his jaw, she tilted his face back upwards from the low point of his neck he had bowed it into and brought his gaze back up towards her eyes. She captured his unadulterated attention once more with imploring eyes.

“ _Be_ with me,” She began pleadingly, “build _a new world_ with me. This is _our_ _reason_. It has been since the beginning since you were a little boy with a bastard’s name, and I was a little girl who couldn’t count to twenty. We do it together. We _break the wheel_ , _together_.”

He delicately dragged his hands up and cupped her face. Shaking and trembling as he did so.

Eyes still slick with tears as his lips parted, “ _Together_?” He asked softly, testing the word as he did so.

Her own eyes welled up with emotion as her lips curled.

“ _Together_.” She affirmed.

He beamed brightly, and he let out a soft release of air.

Her heart skipped as his face contorted with happiness, sunny smile wide. She raced forward and effortlessly molded their lips once again. Wet cheeks brushing together, tears mixing, she ran her hands up and down Jon’s chest, ultimately wrapping them around his neck and cradling him close.

His tongue soon found itself in her mouth as they began kissing heatedly as he rolled her over to her side. She wrapped her leg around his hip as Jon moved one hand from her face and traced it along the side of her slender form. They held each other close as their breath caught up to them. Faces only scarcely apart.

His eyes looked imploringly into her own, “Will you stay with me tonight?”

Her lips curled up sweetly, “Always, _Ñuha dārys_ ,” before she continued in Valyrian, “ _hēzīr bisa tubis, ēva ñuha mōrī tubis.”_

Jon took his finger and trailed it across her chest, slowly swirling it around her flawless breasts before caressing her neck. Giving her a playful tap on the nose, he shot her a teasing smirk along with a tilt of his brow, “I don’t suppose you want to tell me what _that_ means, ... would you?”

Her cheeks blushed a rosy pink before she inched up and gently caught his lips as she slung her arm around his neck and craned him lower so she could feel his breathe down her face, “How about, … _you_ tell me what I said when you learn enough Valyrian?”

“You have my word, my Queen.” He vowed in a low rumble.

His face beamed brightly as he pressed his lips to hers tenderly and stole another kiss before pulling back to rest their heads together and letting them linger there for an extended moment. Gazing lovingly into each other’s eyes as the world around them ceased to exist.

_Nothing else matters._

The chill of the room was now beginning to make itself more prominent, so Jon quickly reached down and brought the covers around them and resumed sweetly nestling their noses together. Stealing further moments arbitrarily, the two continued to lose themselves in one another’s devoted gazes before they began to be lulled by the irresistible allure of sleep. 

Both at peace under the warm covers, tightly wound up and enveloped with one another, resting snuggly upon Jon’s chest and feeling the gentle rhythm of his heartbeat, Daenerys allowed herself to fall into a deep, and tranquil sleep.

At long last, she felt the feeling that had she longed for since she was a young girl. The longing that had driven her to arise from the embers of a pyre and be born anew.

A sensation of love, of understanding, of belonging…

_Of home._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's finally happened, Jon and Daenerys are back completely with one another. 
> 
> Ice and Fire. Together.
> 
> Reclamation.


	8. Awakening

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A tranquil awakening, changes of prophecy, and further disclosure of cherished information.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think some of you might enjoy this chapter, please drop me a line with what you think ;)

* * *

The sun was beginning to rise and hail the start of a new day, as well as reign in the inception of a new dawn. 

The sky was clear and cloudless, the birds were twittering their joyous songs, and the inhabitants of the castle were commencing their daily routines in preparation. An amber hue coaxed itself gently through the shutters and slowly roused Jon to wake from his restful repose.

As his eyes flitted open slowly, he craned his neck down to observe the still-resting form of his love sleeping soundly atop his chest, rising and falling in tandem with each of his passing breaths. Her silver-gold locks of hair were strewn about, no part in thanks to him from the previous night, and her features rested peacefully as she continued to dream in a serene slumber.

With absolutely no desire to get up and stir the winter goddess that endowed him with her presence, he casually floated his gaze to the shutters of his room and measured the light coming through them to gauge the time-of-day. From the looks of it, he gathered that morning was just beginning, as his body was already accustomed to waking up at the brisk hour to take his usual trek down to the Winterfell Crypts and spend time with his late family.

_But not today. No, today he would be spending the morning with his other family._

Jon drew his gaze back down to Daenerys’ elegantly lounging form as he, ever-so-softly, brought his fingers down to caress and stroke her flowing hair. He permitted himself to slack his eyes, and leaned his head back upon the pillows once again, allowing the sweet aroma of lavender to coax through his lungs and stir through his being. _No longer a faraway recollection, but rather a vivid actuality._ It soothed him, and unceasingly, his senses started to lull as he felt his mind ease as he savored the moment. 

He felt his heart swell to unimaginable expanses as familiar wisps and sighs of delight graced his ears. Jon edged his eyes open once more and glanced down at Daenerys, who was slowly waking from her tranquil interlude. Her eyes fluttered drowsily as her fingers instantly flexed along his chest, assuring that he was, in fact, still there and that she wasn’t just fantasizing it all. Just as he had done moments prior. His lips bent up at the gesture.

Inclining her head up, her face broke out into a beautiful sparkling smile that challenged the light shimmering through the shutters as her eyes met his. They instantly kindled at the sight of him. Jon ran his hand to push away a strand of hair that was hanging down her face, removing the silvery curtain and allowing him to peer unbroken into the breathtaking amethyst eyes that gazed back. 

“Good morning, my love,” she purred softly as she raised herself to capture his lips. Jon gladly leaned into her loving kiss and dissolved as their lips molded with one another’s. He vowed he would never tire of their tender and affectionate moments.

Jon gently encircled her in his arms, pressing her frame to his body, “I love watching you wake up.” He breathed over her lips. 

Daenerys glowed and beamed kindly as she raised her hand and ran it along his bearded cheek, “Mm, then let’s _make that a_ _habit_.” 

He let a sly grin bend his face, “As you wish, my Queen.”

Jon smoothly swept some more hair out of her face before delicately rolling them over, so she was on her back, and he was next to her on his side leaning over her face. Reluctant to begin speculating about the duties of the day, he lowered down and elected to lose himself in her for a little while longer. He captured her lips with his once more, as she hooked her arms around his neck and edged him flat against her body. His tongue was promptly granted entrance and immediately began to flirt with hers.

Their passionate contest only downshifting to end as a result of the light from the shutters burnishing with rapid haste. Jon grudgingly withdrew himself from her so he could petition the fact he dreaded, “Dany, no one would observe your absence if you slipped back to your quarters while it's still early.”

She appeared to pay no recompense to his concern. Instead, she ran her hands along his chest and seduced him with a mischievous grin and a whisper, “ _Let them_ notice, I say.”

He nearly scoffed at her resoluteness, nursing his own roguish smirk, he lowered himself and murmured across her lips, “Are you _certain_ that’s what you want, my Queen?”

Neglecting his reservations once more she flipped them over, rolled on top of him, and laid her body securely on his torso. “Of this, I’m _quite_ certain.” She smirked, plucking his nose playfully before sensually tracing her finger down his chest.

Before Jon could raise himself to return to his favorite pastime, Daenerys' face abruptly seemed pained. His anxieties manifested instantly as he propelled himself up and rocked her tenderly in his arms. “Daenerys, are you okay?” His appeal was full of apprehension.

“I’m fine.” She placated as she shut her eyes, appearing more distressed and uncomfortable as she maneuvered her arms to clutch her stomach, “I’m used to this by now.” 

“' _Used to this'?_ " Jon’s mouth flopped open, "You mean to tell me, this is a _frequent_ occurrence?”

Eyes still closed, she ignored him and pointed to his desk next to the bed, "Water. Could you get me some water?” Without a second of hesitation, he levered himself off the bed and traversed to the table with the water pitcher.

He grabbed a glass and filled it hastily while Daenerys suddenly leaned over the bed and dry-heaved, appearing increasingly unwell. Jon swiftly returned to her side and laid his hand comfortingly on her back, and began to scratch her head and shoulders with his nails as she cherished. He handed her the water glass as she melted into his embrace, downing its contents within an instance.

“Needless to say, I am concerned.” He tendered softly as he observed her beginning to reign herself in, sickness superficially receding.

Daenerys shook her head, stubbornly, “I’ll be okay, Jon. I promise.”

“I guess, your body really _doesn’t_ like the North, huh?” She giggled at his humor before rebounding to take a few more sips from her cup.

“I am a _southern_ girl, _Jon Snow_.” Playfulness returning with a wink, Jon could see her shoulders visibly begin to ease as whatever had come over her had passed as suddenly as it had arrived.

He smoothly glided his thumb over the back of her hand before meeting her eyes once more with entreating diligence, “Will you at least see the Maester? If not for your sake, _for mine_?”

Daenerys lips parted to demur, but she caught her tongue. Instead, she contemplated unwaveringly into his eyes. She must have perceived what she was beseeching for because she lowered her head to peer into her lap before fiddling with her hands. “I will.” She said quietly.

Jon comfortingly moved to hold her hands in his and gave them a customary squeeze, “I’m sure _nothing_ is wrong, I just want to be certain that’s all.”

Daenerys couldn’t suppress the subtle smile that etched across her face at his loving concern. She inclined her head to meet his once more. “Thank you, my love.” She remarked admiringly.

“Of course.” He smiled warmly in return before their reverie was broken up by a soft knock at the door.

Missendai’s sweet voice came from the other side, “Lord Snow, have you seen Daenerys? I went to start her morning routine, but, ... she wasn’t in her quarters.”

“Uhh…” Jon called as he instantly threw his head to meet Daenerys’ eyes, mind-scrambling, he endeavored pathetically in response, “Daenerys, she, um, ....” 

Daenerys bit back a snicker as her cheeks blushed, “I’m _in here_ , Missandei!” She hailed to her dear friend through the door. It was Jon’s turn to turn crimson as his head slinked away shyly.

“Oh, Your Grace! I apologize, I had no idea.” Voice clearly exhibiting the surprise no doubt rocking the handmaiden's face.

Daenerys gave an innocent giggle, “It’s quite alright, Missandei. Give us just one moment.”

They could scantily hear her handmaiden clear her throat, and hold back a laugh, before she chirped back, “Of course, Your Grace.”

Jon beamed lively at Daenerys, perhaps for _too_ long, as she twisted her head to face him. Her face contorted in feigned indignation, mockingly elbowing his chest as she ridiculed. “Don’t just _lie_ there, you big oaf! _”_

It was his turn to belly a hearty laugh as he grudgingly thrust himself to his feet and moved to gather some clothes from the dresser. He started with his breeches and tunic, before throwing on his gambeson and moving to lace up his boots. Gathering his cloak last and throwing it over himself.

Before he made for the door, he dared to glance back over to Daenerys who had been raptly watching him get dressed as she lay on her stomach, head perched in her hand, legs swaying casually in the air behind her. The fiendish smirk that graced her face rent at his resolve and nearly made him shed all his clothes and spring back into bed to claim her on the spot. He bit back his primal lust in respect of their unabatingly awaiting guest. 

But Jon did allow himself to glide back over to her, lean down, and steal one more lengthy and savory kiss from her honeyed lips before he procured himself and strode the door. 

Drawing it open, Missandei’s cheeks instantly flushed, as did his, “Missandei, if you may, would you fetch the Maester?” Jon shot her a kind smile. ”I can keep watch over the Queen until you get back.”

“Of course, Lord Snow.” She politely bowed, with a flash of concern, “I’ll just be a moment.”

Missandei’s smiled as she stepped away and went to fetch the Maester for Daenerys. Jon instantly turned and hurriedly sealed the door behind him as he glided back over to the beauty presently residing in his bed.

His face twisted into a grin as he stared upon her immaculate body laid before him, “Oh, _come on_ , Dany. How am I supposed to go about my duties when you are over there _looking like that_?” He gestured with his arm up and down her lounging nude form.

She edged herself up slightly off her stomach and pressed her ample breasts together as she gave him the most innocent, bewildered look he had ever seen. Her voice dripped with sex appeal, “Oh? But whatever do you mean, _Jon Snow_?”

Jon bit his lip as his voice dropped low and rumbly. Unwaveringly, he crept closer to her step-by-step, “Mayhaps it's best I come over there and _explain_ it to you, nice and slow-like? That way you don’t mistake _my intent_?” 

Daenerys smirked devilishly then as she winked, “I _am_ a slow learner _.”_ She urged him closer with a curl of her finger while biting her lower lip.

He resigned himself and leapt on top of the bed with her, still draped in all his northern garb. Completely covering them underneath his warm cloak, their lips molded as moans of pleasure mixed with heartfelt laughter within their little makeshift tent. He ran his hands up and down her body as she tumbled them over and they began to roll carelessly atop one another, eventually ceasing once their heads reached the pillows.

Somehow, Jon found himself, once again, underneath her and gaping up at her brilliantly shimmering violet eyes. They devotedly held one another's gaze for an elongated moment as he tenderly smoothed away a rogue strand of hair that invaded her face, “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, you know that Daenerys?”

Promptly she lowered herself flush against his body and twirled her fingers across his cladly covered chest, “And _you’re_ mine, Jon Snow.” Their lips connected one final time as a knock sounded from the door again. 

He edged himself to the edge of the bed before he twisted to face her once more and lifted his hand to caress her cheek. She instantly leaned into his touch, “I love you, Dany.” 

Her face beamed brightly, “I love _you_ , Jon.”

“I’ll be going to treat with Lord Reed before he departs. I shall see you afterward, okay?” He reassured, smoothing his thumb over the side of her face. 

“I can’t wait.” She whispered sweetly as the curves of her mouth bent up.

Finally, Jon hoisted himself up and strode to the door and pulled it open to greet Missandei again. She granted him a warm smile upon his presence as he stepped out and closed the door behind himself. 

Missandei took the opportunity to voice her concerns as they stood outside his chamber door and awaited the Maester she hailed for, “Lord Snow, is Daenerys alright, has something happened?”

Jon shook his head to diffuse her anxieties, “Daenerys was ill when she woke up this morning, she said that she’s, … ‘ _used to it_.’ I’m not certain anything is amiss, but it doesn’t hurt to be cautious.” His features bent up in earnest as she did the same.

She bowed her head in agreement, “Thank you for caring for her, Lord Snow.” The dual significance of her words was not lost on him.

“Jon.” He quickly followed up, “You can call me Jon, any friend of Daenerys’ is a friend of mine.” 

Missandei’s face lit up, “Then thank you, …” hesitating timidly before testing the word, “ _Jon_.”

He let on his own smile as the two stood in silence for a moment in the gathering and blowing Northern chill. Jon’s mind flew to the previous night as his voracious curiosity brimmed to the surface. 

_Daenerys would probably consider it cheating, … but._

He twisted to face the handmaid, “Missandei,” he entreated as his brows arched up, “Do you know, ... _Valyrian?_ By any chance?”

Her entire face turned up in excitement at his inquiry, “Yes, of course, why do you ask?”

Jon smirked, “I heard a _phrase_ , … last night _.”_ Their cheeks blushed in knowing unison, “I was wondering, maybe you could, … _translate_ it for me?” 

“I can certainly try,” Missandei did her best to stifle a charming giggle, “what was this, _phrase_ , you heard last night?”

He brought his hand to stroke his beard reflectively as his thoughts drifted to conjure up the events of last night in vivid detail. 

His lips curled, “Well, …” he began, “it went a little something like…”

* * *

When the door opened again, it wasn’t Jon who strode in, but rather her sweet Missandei, alongside an elder Maester. He cautiously stepped inside the room and rounded to the side of the bed where she lay underneath the covers. Her handmaiden crossed to the other side of the bed and placed down the winter dress she brought from her quarters, and pulled up a chair and took a seat next to them. Offering her reassuring presence, which Daenerys immediately found comfort in. 

Missandei reached across the bed and grasped her hand, “How are you, Your Grace?”

Daenerys offered an encouraging smile, and a gentle squeeze, “I’m good, Missi, I hope you are, as well?”

She graciously nodded as concern flashed across her features, “Does Lord Sn-,” she caught herself, “Jon,” beaming sweetly, “does _Jon_ have cause to worry?”

Daenerys wanted to nod her head resolutely, but she couldn’t lie to her sweet Missandei. Truthfully, she _had_ been feeling increasingly dreadful these past few weeks. Whether it was nausea, the headaches, or a horrible concoction of both, she loathed it, and if the Maester could provide answers, she would happily oblige Jon his request. 

“I do not believe so,” she acknowledged genuinely.

Her attention was then rent by the Maester who had been very patiently standing-by at the side of the bed to begin his examination. “Are you ready to proceed, Your Grace?”

Daenerys slowly nodded her affirmation and gradually lifted the covers away from her exposed body. The Maester took his cue and knelt down beside her on the floor next to the bed and began to commence his procedure. 

At first, he very delicately drew his hands to her abdomen, before withdrawing them to her throat and working to massage the tension there. She hummed as she felt herself relax.

Next, his hands trailed up to her temples as he resumed his kneading, soothing her tight and parsimonious head. He paid close consideration to her face as she loosened in relief, “Have you had many headaches recently, Your Grace?”

Daenerys inclined her head with her eyes still closed, “I have, yes.” 

The man silently acknowledged her words before lifting his hands and pointing to her chest, “May I, Your Grace? With all due respect.” Instantly she shot her eyes over to Missandei who was still assuredly holding her hand; she gave her a comforting smile and a squeeze. 

Daenerys returned her gaze to the man before bowing her head, curtly.

With extreme care and thoughtfulness, he considerately checked her breasts and gave them a soft press. “Have you experienced any, more _acute_ , soreness or tenderness lately?”

She thought about this for a moment; it wasn’t really something she had paid regard to if she was honest. _Well…_ she reminisced. _Jon made them sore…_ she bit back a grin before coming to a proper answer. “Nothing _too_ out of the ordinary, dear Maester.”

The man wordlessly nodded before finally trailing his attention backdown again to her belly and middle once again. Once there, he gave various presses and pushes of altering pressures and lengths. “Your handmaiden hailed me under the notion that you’ve been having morning sickness, is this correct, Your Grace?”

Daenerys decisively responded at that, “It is.”

“How long, roughly, have you been experiencing this?” He inquired with a few more light prods around her stomach.

She stretched her mind back to the first occurrence of her sickness that she could remember. If she recalled right, it was shortly after first arriving North. “It’s been about, a moon turn, or longer, I would estimate.”

At that, the Maester terminated his hand's examinations and yielded them punctually to his sides. He looked at her musingly then, “And your Moon Blood, Your Grace? How long has it been?” 

Daenerys nearly scoffed at him, desiring to cast his presumptions away that threatened to cripple her resolve as quickly as she could. She had grieved and wept over her barren womb more than enough, and she would not let herself do it again. “It’s been _some time_ , dear Maester.” She offered dismissively.

He wasn’t appeased by that answer at all. His voice persisted sympathetic and patient. “I understand, Your Grace, but _specifically_ , how long has it been?” Daenerys looked at him considerately for a moment. Her heart endangered to convulse with a sensation she long had cast away at the man’s staunch persistence.

_A sensation of hope._

_When was the last time? _

She queried as she began to reminisce. She could acutely recall getting her Moon Blood back during her time wandering helplessly amidst the Dothraki Sea all that time ago. But even then, it was so considerably light and faint. She never thought anything of it. Ever since then, however, she always despised it. It was a constant reminder of a future she couldn’t have. Daenerys bit back her emotions; she loathed thinking about the topic as it always brought her to the same outcome. 

_The last time_ _._ Daenerys focused.

If she pondered diligently, she gathered that her next Moon Blood should’ve occurred, … _over two weeks ago?_ … if her cycles were as consistent as they had been. The notion puzzled her. _When was her last Moon Blood that she distinctly remembered?_ _It must’ve been at least a month and a half ago, if not more?_ It was so laborious to keep track of everything that took place since then; time was not very accommodating recently.

She cleared her throat as she finally answered, “It’s been near a moon and a half, mayhaps closer to two?”

At her utterance, the Maester promptly leaned down and collected his belongings that he had brought with him and raised himself from his knees and off the floor. “Well then, Your Grace, I’m gratified to say you appear in _excellent_ health given the circumstances. You have nothing to worry about.” He finished with a polite smile and a nod before coolly rounding to head back to the door.

Daenerys instantly shot a flash of her eyes to Missandei who reciprocated her dismay, her handmaid spoke up for her and held the man in his tracks, “ _Circumstances_? Then what of her illness, Maester, is there something you can give her to soothe her symptoms?”

The Maester gave a genuine laugh as he laid his hand on the handle of the door before shifting back to face them, “Oh no, my dear, that all is part of the natural progression of being with _child_. The effects should subside in time. Until then, get lots of _rest_ and _meals_.” The man affably bowed and edged himself out the door.

Daenerys mouth hung completely agape with no intention to resolve it. Her heart began to nearly race out of her chest as her eyes instantly swelled with tears. She immediately brought her hands to wrap protectively around her middle, where her child was gradually starting to gather life. Letting the tears start to flow down her face as she began to sob in unadulterated rapture.

Before she could get too lost in her own raging thoughts, her cognizance was wrought by Missandei’s gentle press on her forearm. “Your Grace, _congratulations!_ ”

Daenerys screened her face with her hands as she continued to weep with joy.

 _She was with child_.

 _Jon had given her the greatest gift she could ever imagine. Their_ _child._

_A child she could raise and love as her own. As, their, own._

_A child that was conceived from pure love, who could live life freely, knowing their parents cared for them so very much and would be proud of them every step of the way. A child that never has to doubt how much they are treasured._

_It was everything she could want. And then some._

Missandei swiftly rose from her chair and rounded to Daenerys’ side of the bed and sat down next to her, holding her in her arms and swaying them gently. Daenerys sank into her friend’s shoulder and let her emotions pour through her at this inconceivable turn of events. Her mind rushed, and boundless emotion surged through her.

_She couldn’t wait to tell Jon._

“Are you happy, Your Grace?” Missandei asked sweetly, still rocking them together. “Is this what you want?”

“Yes! I _want_ this, more than _anything,_ ” Daenerys could barely contain her exuberance, “I’m _so_ _happy_ , Missandei.”

The two silently confided in their comforting embrace as Daenerys very leisurely began to gather herself from the revelation that shattered her whole world, supplanting it with an image of the future she never imagined possible before this moment. She tightly held her dear friend as she heaved a final sob.

Missandei's face broke out into a bright and sunny smile, “I’m so happy _for_ you, Your Grace.” 

Daenerys smoothly parted them, “Please, call me _Dany_.” She glowed fondly at her dear friend.

“Dany _.”_ She tried the word, finding it peculiar, but the gesture was not lost on her friend as Missandei brought her hand to press her arm sweetly. “I’m honored to be here for this moment with you, _Dany_.” A wide smile crested her face as she paused a moment, before continuing respectfully, “Do you plan to tell Jon?”

Daenerys instantly nodded her head as her emotions advanced to break through her resolve again at the image of Jon learning about _their_ child. She pictured his reaction and her heart soared to new bounds. She dreamt of his excited smile, … his loving gaze, … his comforting arms surrounding her and holding her tight against him as he edged his lips on hers, as they swiftly lost themselves in the same love that had given them life anew.

Her lips bent up as her eyes remained dreamily closed. “I’m not able to tell him _quick enough_.”

* * *

Jon found himself having to grapple against another urge to race back into his quarters and plunge back into bed with his love at his newfound discovery of the words Daenerys whispered before they drifted asleep together. He was absolutely radiant and couldn’t care to restrain the ravaging smirk that bid it’s way across his face as he courteously bowed to the Maester who had arrived. Thanking the man, and giving a polite nod to Missandei, he shifted and began to make his way down to the courtyard as the two entered to check on Daenerys.

As his thoughts drifted and wandered endlessly of the woman who had encapsulated his heart so staunchly, his concerns rose in tandem as well. He fretted for her well-being, and although he put on a dauntless front to encourage her, the fact she’s been feeling so dreadful lately made him anxious. The idea that such a soft and gentle heart could be afflicted crossed him. However minor the inconvenience. He wished he could directly take a sword to her quandaries and pains and ease them for her. Instead, he had to settle for just being there and comforting her with his mere presence.

 _He could think of worse things to do in the world._ He meditated as his face twisted into a lengthy grin once more.

Descending the stairs and reaching the courtyard, the melody of clashing steel wrought him from his trance as he scrutinized the man ‘kissed by fire’ sparring with his Second. Just as he was starting to cross over to them and close the distance, his focus was abruptly violated by the cawing and swirling of over a dozen ravens being set loose from the Winterfell nockey. Jon stood fixed in place for a moment in speculative contemplation as he observed the birds disperse and start to speed in all diverging directions; Some North, some South, others East and West. Punctually he returned and renewed his original trek forth, to the man who would be able to give him the answers he sought.

As Jon neared his two dear friends as they spared, they gradually came to a halt. They seized the moment of separation and bent over as they grunted and panted in exhaustion before turning to face him as he rounded in front of them. “Tormund, ... don’t go killing my Second now. That is, unless _you want_ to travel even further south?”

Dryden derided, rolling his eyes, as he straightened himself, “As if, you’d be _lucky_ to have a King beyond the Wall once I’m done with him.” Tormund instantly howled a lively guffaw and slugged Jon in the shoulder with his fist.

“You hear that _my_ _little Crow_? I’m a King! Bow you shits!” The three erupted into blithe gaiety before Jon settled them back down and bent his focus to his commander.

“Dryden, have you sent out the latest orders and preparations I managed to pen from last night?” He investigated, recollecting the swarm of ravens departing only moments prior.

The man swung his head promptly, “No, I haven’t. I was going to wait until today when you had them all done, and then send them all-together. Unless you _wanted_ me to start _now_?”

“No, no, that’s quite alright.” Jon dismissed the idea with a wave of his hand before bringing it up to stroke his beard, “Can you go and check what the dismissal was just moments ago in the interim? I don’t recall queueing any reports to go out this morning.”

Sheathing his sword, the man wasted no time as he brushed back him and slapped his shoulder, “Of course, Jon, I’ll report back with my findings.”

As the man stepped away, Jon took note of Ghost’s leisurely lounging form underneath the catwalk residing in the shade. He quickly inched closer to his other half and lowered himself to greet him. 

The wolf instinctually raised his head off his paws and nestled under his fond scratches and pats. Jon took a moment to observe his furry friend’s wounds carefully. His right ear was still recovering, other small lacerations were already scabbing over across his torso, and his cloak had been gradually returning to its original shimmering white. He seemed to be coming along exceptionally, indicated enough by the wolf’s tongue that hung out happily and entreating soft whimpers of delight from the continuous pets.

Jon leaned forward and rested his head against Ghost’s own, and casually peered into the ruby eyes that gaped back. _If he couldn’t be there to comfort her now, he would send the next best thing he could_. “Hey boy, can you go be with Daenerys for me? She would love your company.”

The wolf quickly shot up to all fours with an exited ‘yip!’ Jon simpered and granted one last enthusiastic scratch behind his ears, just as his good boy cherished. “Go on, boy, _tell her I sent you!_ ” He smiled as his loyal companion eagerly scampered off to do what he could not.

Jon hoisted himself to his feet once more and shifted back to the courtyard where Tormund was keenly awaiting. “Come on little Crow. You didn’t kill that precious Night King of yours, prove to me you can still kill _anything at all!”_ In tandem with another bellowing laugh, the wilding twisted his ax showily around in his hand and pointed it at him.

Jon sheepishly held up his hands in feigned surrender, “I would, Tormund, but I have things to do. And, … _people are_ waiting for me.” His lips curved up as his attention readily drifted again.

Not for long though as the red-headed brute edged closer, “ _You two finally fucking again?”_

Jon’s mouth shot wide, “Wha-, we, …” he struggled to riposte.

“I know that look on your face,” Tormund leaned in close, “it’s the _only time_ I ever see you smile.”

Jon quickly rolled his eyes and shook his head in hopeless contradiction. Jon turned away from the man, attempting to conceal his reddened cheeks before pitching the man away with a brisk wave of his hand. “I should go, we’ll speak later, Tormund.”

Jon began to move a few steps away before the man’s voice froze him in his tracks, “If you don’t get back over here, …” Jon’s head slowly rose up to level with the ground, as he coolly craned his head to glance back over his shoulder. “I’ll bellow it out for the _whole castle to hear._ ”

 _Fine._ Jon resigned himself. _Does he want to be knocked on his ass? I’ll gladly oblige._

Wordlessly, Jon rolled his shoulders and let his cloak cascade to the ground. Within an instance, his hand flew to the hilt of Longclaw and ripped it from its sheath, brandishing it loosely with an impressive twirl and wheeling around to face his companion. 

“Then your next words better be your _last…_ ” He dared.

Tormund’s face animated into a deep grin as he sauntered into his stance, sinking lower and displacing his weight to his back foot. Jon observed the man’s posture carefully, his mind immediately assessing ways to pierce through the man’s defenses. He spun Longclaw in his grasp, flexing his gloved hands with a crinkle of leather as the two started deliberately circling one another, waiting for the other to make a move.

Swiftly, and with grace, Jon blasted forward and carried his sword down from over his head in a slanting slash, endeavoring to capitalize on sheer surprise before retracting, readjusting, and swinging low from the reverse direction. The wildling evaded his attempts with ease and seized the fluctuating of momentum to his advantage. He hurled his ax, sending it sailing through the air towards his middle. Jon ducked under the blow, wind whooshing overhead, and catching the brief opening of the man’s reshuffle and barreling his shoulder forward into the man’s chest, throwing him into a staggering pitch backward.

The wilding collected his composure before furnishing his hatchet with another flashy twirl, “ _Not_ _bad_ , Snow.” At the utterance, the man reeled forward with gravity and brought his hatchet down from over his head, feigning it’s direction mid-swing, and alternatively displacing it to come lower. It almost caught Jon off-guard as he rapidly downshifted to lodge the ax’s edge in the cross-guard of his blade. He grappled against the man’s great strength as the two locked in a competitive match of power with their intertwined armaments, Tormund crept the edge of his blade closer, then Jon, he recognized the effort was vain.

With a quick shift of weight, Jon hammered his own blade to the ground, carrying Tormund’s encased ax with it, before tearing into a sharp spin over his right shoulder. As the stunted wildling attempted to wrestle his weapon back up, Jon had already maneuvered behind the man and drew his blade across his neck. A round of claps emitted from the rafters and around the courtyard as onlookers had begun to assemble at the spectacle during their brief exchange.

Jon lowered his weapon and retired Longclaw to his sheath. He stretched his arm to his friend and caught them together as Tormund slammed on the shoulder. “Good fight, my friend. I wish you better luck next time.”

The wilding howled, “HAH! _First_ , come back alive, _then_ , I’ll kick your ass.”

He shot the man a heartfelt smile, “I will Tormund, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

The two shared a moment of mutual respect before Jon motioned to separate their embrace. He then took a moment to clear himself free of any grime that had accumulated before reaching to grab his cloak and slinging it over his shoulders once again. He briskly wiped the sheen off his forehead before his eyes reached the notice of the man he had been originally out to seek.

Jon hailed the individual who was pushing himself through the courtyard, “Lord Reed!”

Howland’s head shot up, bouncing around momentarily before determining the source of his solicitation. “Ah! Lord Snow, do you wish to join me still to dine?”

“I would,” Jon greeted back, closing the distance between them and beginning to walk in sequence with the man as they strode towards the feast hall. “How was your overnight, my Lord, I hope it was to your satisfaction?”

“It was most indeed,” The man punctually acknowledged, “you are most generous, Lord Snow.”

Jon gave an affable smile as the two entered the hall and proceeded their way towards the empty head table. Motioning for them to take a seat, Jon took a moment to cull a pitcher of water and wine and drew it over to rest in front of them as they anticipated their servers. Howland poured himself a modest cup of both, before moving to sip thoughtfully.

He turned to face Jon then, “Have you ever heard the tale of the _Knight of the Laughing Tree_ , my Lord?” The man partitioned between drinks.

Jon let his mind stretch before conceding and swaying his head, “No, I don’t believe I’ve heard of such a man.” His brows arched, ” _Should I have_?”

The man’s face broke out into a spirited grin, “For therein lies your problem, for the Knight of the Laughing Tree was no _man._ ”

His curiosity piqued as he shifted to face the man fully now. “Tell me about _her_ , this Knight of yours?” Politely signing to continue with his hand, Jon casually sipped from his goblet.

Howland set his own down on the table as the server came by and spread sets of food in front of them. They both nodded genially and praised the kind man before Howland began his story. “When I was a fledgling man at the Tourney of Harrenhal, I was harassed and battered by a trio of squires from three participants.” He commenced modestly. “Before the men could do any serious damage, a young woman, armed with naught but a tourney sword, fought them off and they scampered away like rats to a flame.” The man’s lips crept up. “Incidentally, the kind woman tended to my wounds and helped me get back on my feet before taking me to meet _Ned Stark_. That’s when I first came into acquaintance with your uncle _._ ” Jon’s brow bent up in surprise. “Of course, that isn’t the extent of the mysterious Knight’s actions during the tournament, oh no.”

Howland took a moment to take a pass at his food, before rinsing it down with a few gulps of wine. “A few days later _three_ _Knights,_ Knights of the squires that had assaulted me, had progressed and won their qualifying rounds and were poised to take the championship for the Tourney. But not before our esteemed _Mystery Knight_ challenged all of them to jousts.” As the man continued, Jon noticed his mouth twisting into a wide grin. “The Knight of the Laughing Tree bested _them_ _all_. Humiliating them with ease.” He offered a quaint chuckle in reminiscence, “And, do you know what the Knight’s terms were when the chastened losers came clambering to get their armor and horses back?”

Jon shook his head obliviously, ”All the Knight of the Laughing Tree wanted in exchange for her victories, was for them to teach their three squires _some manners._ ” He finished with a snort. ”Which, they _did._ ”

Jon submitted a laugh, “I would’ve loved to meet this Knight,” he shook his head in reverence, “she sounds like quite a woman.”

“ _That Knight_ ,” Howland smirked untrammeled, “was your _mother_ , Jon.”

Jon twisted his head, face hung in shock, “Lyanna competed in the _Tourney at Harrenhal?!”_

“Not _on the record_ , of course!" Howland met with a light-hearted chuckle, "After defeating the three knights for the championship, the Knight vanished as quickly as she appeared. King Aerys was infuriated, claiming the Knight was a blasphemed assailant sent to mock him.” He turned to face Jon once more, “This was also the same Tourney where your mother and father met, and began to fall in love.” Quickly, Jon swallowed back a lump of sentiments in his throat at the man’s tales. “When the Tourney was over, and Prince Rhaegar was set to bestow a crown of blue winter roses upon his betrothed’s head, he instead chose to place the crown upon Lyanna’s.” Howland dipped his head as he concluded. “The rest is history I’m afraid.”

Jon's mind rushed to envision the scene, envying to have been there to witness the moment for himself. He imagined the shock on the onlooker's face, the surprise that no doubt rocked his mother, and the look in his father’s eyes as the two gravitated towards each other, and the likely parallel he carried when he looked upon Daenerys. He instantly smiled. He was grateful for every newfound bit of information he could accumulate about the lives of his parents and their love. He nurtured every detail.

His thoughts then drifted to a more grave and reflective train of thought. “Lord Reed, can I ask you a hypothetical?” The man nodded respectfully. ”Arthur Dayne.” Howland's eyes darkened immediately as Jon uttered the name. “Had he, and the rest of the Targaryen Kingsguard, been at the Trident alongside my father do you think things would’ve happened, … _differently_?”

Howland seemed startled at his question and began to contemplatively stroke his sideburns, “Truthfully? _I believe so.”_ The man nodded but kept his eyes set on the table in front of him quietly, “Those three paladins were some of the most skillful swordsmen I’ve ever seen.”

Jon explored further, “I’ve heard the stories of ‘ _The Sword of the Morning_ ’ growing up, how did you and my father take down such a legend?”

“It’s not a story I enjoy retelling,” The man lamented as his voice trailed soft, “the man deserved better.”

Jon swallowed, “Tell me.”

Howland met his eyes beseechingly, wishing he would change his mind, but his resolve remained set, so the man started. “All the stories you heard were true. Arthur Dayne _was_ the most proficient swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms." He anxiously took a swig of wine, “The man was _amazingly ambidextrous_. He fought all six of us off all while wielding _two_ _swords_ , gliding and twirling around, and _through_ us, like a dancer. One-by-one he cut us down before eventually, it was just him and Lord Stark.” The man glanced down into his empty cup as his voice dropped, “As he continued to advance, about the gain the upper-hand and slay his last foe, I stumbled up from my injuries and, … stabbed him _in the back_.”

Jon watched the man shut his eyes and shake his head vigorously. _He understood honor, but Jon also understood survival._ He placed his hand on the man’s shoulder, attempting to reassure him so he would bring up his head from the low-point he had dropped it in shame, “You did what you _had_ to do, Lord Reed. To _live_.”

Howland scoffed, “The _most_ _gifted_ swordsmen, killed, by a dagger through the back of his neck.” He shook his head once more, “Some men might brag about such a feat.”

Jon squeezed his shoulder again before returning it to his side as his wandering thoughts piqued, “Why didn’t my father have his accoladed Kingsguard by his side on the Trident if they could’ve made such an impact? Surely, he must’ve known?”

Howland’s eyes brimmed with solemnness as their gazes met understandingly. “Because there was something _far more important_ that he wanted to protect than his own life.”

Jon bowed his head and drifted his eyes down to the table. Letting a moment of silence pass between them. Mind running gambit, he surmised all he would do to protect his own love no matter what life would throw at her as he reflected on Lord Reed’s remarks, before finally responding. “I would've done the same thing.” He said quietly.

At that, the man stretched across and laid his hand on Jon’s shoulder, “Let’s pray, it should never come to that.” Extending a modest smile.

Jon nodded, “Thank you, for sharing your knowledge with me, Lord Reed. It means more than you know to learn anything more about my mother and father.”

Howland shot him a sympathetic smile then, “Of course.” He inclined his head before standing and pushing out his chair. “I fear I must bid due for now as I must return to penning correspondence, Lord Snow.”

Jon arose, mimicking the man, “And so it is.”

Passing around him, Howland led the way out of the feast hall, and the two silently began crossing through the castle’s courtyard before leisurely arriving at the main gate where the two were to depart and go there separate ways for the time being. Before they could, Jon wrought the man's attention and stretched his hand out to treat with his.

“Thank you again, Lord Reed. You are a most welcome dear friend of House Stark and House Targaryen.” Jon offered a kind smile, which the man considerately returned.

“Thank you, Lord Snow. I'm sure we will speak more soon.” Howland bowed before meeting his outstretched arm and shaking it. 

Jon grinned at the man’s word one final time, "We shall, I look forward to hearing more tales about my mother and father."

Within an instance, Howland nodded and rounded to begin his trek back to his quarters. Jon yielded a parting wave before his attention was startled by another man’s presence who lurked abating on the side in an abyss of darkness. 

From the inky shadow, out crawled a spider.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A new dawn, #boatbaby confirmed, ominous ravens, and more enlightening knowledge for Jon about his parents.
> 
> What more could you want? ;)
> 
> How'd you all like the chapter?


	9. Discovery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A spider cast his web from the shadows, as new and unexpected plans develop.

* * *

The air appeared to chill, and the hair on the end of Jon's neck rose as the Spider subsisted up to his namesake. Impassively fringing out of the umbra, the daylight belatedly worked on elucidating the man's shadowed face. He lurked forth, administering his hands predictably idle in his front pockets, as his face remained etched firmly in blank disposition. Jon's stomach dived in anachronizing tautness.

" _Jon Snow."_ Was all Varys initiated with, and already, Jon loathed the exchange.

He placated an apathetic front before returning directly, "Lord Varys."

The Spider rounded in front of Jon before rooting himself in place, "The man who I've heard so much about," his mouth curved, "I take it the reception with our latest guest was, _yielding_?"

Jon looked the man up-and-down, making a note not to parse his words and to pick them particularly sparingly, before appeasing dismissively, "Aye, a new ally is always welcomed."

Varys resolve persevered undeterred, "Was that the antecedent of his visit then? _To affirm fealty?"_

"In part." Jon mollified curtly as he coiled and tensed his fists underneath the cover of his cloak, hoping the fur could cover the evidence of his corporeal anxiety. 

"I see." The Spider abruptly edged closer, narrowing the gap amid the two of them as his eyes scrutinizingly fixated on him with a relentless application, "I need say, … it's quite a _fascinating_ time for such an endeavor, wouldn't you suppose?"

Jon's eyes eluded no longer as they fastened to adjoin the man's gaze. A lump abode in his throat immediately, but he pressed forth a wry smile. "Not at all, my Lord. It's unsurprising, given the impending resolution of the war to come," His self-assuredness arose with his retort, and conviction inundated his appearance. He endeavored to believe he was adequately masking his lurking unease. 

The Spider's patience grew more tenuous, but his perceptions risked not abscond as the man reshifted his focus to try and flay the truth away, layer-by-layer, from a new perspective. "Lord Reed was a dear companion of _Lord Stark's_ , was he not?"

"He was," Jon acknowledged coolly, "Lord Reed has been gracious enough to bestow me many inspiring accounts of my father, and their courageous acts together during the war, and beyond."

_As long as the conversation floated around the notables of Lord Stark his anxieties would manage well enough, and he had no cause to fret, and instead, could continue to serve to push the dialogue in his direction._

Before he could misdirect, however, the Spider pursed his lips, "I'm sure there are _plentiful_ stories of such _a man_."

Jon continued advancing nonchalantly with the course the man was setting, "Admittedly, it appears I discover something supplemental about him each passing day."

"Fittingly so, a man like your father warrants to be celebrated with faithful depictions of his accomplishments." Varys consciously bowed his head. "He was an immeasurable man; I regarded him considerably." 

Jon shifted to him with keen investigative interest, "You associated with my father, then?"

Varys confessed, "Not _personably_ , of course, but through my experience and connections, I've gathered innumerable accounts of the man's character."

Jon submitted a modest smile, "You'll have to share them with me someday."

"Someday, I shall." The man conceded courteously.

The deliberate imprecision of their transfer endowed Jon with perpetual dread. Carefully, he sanctioned his eyes to scrutinize the features of the man's face astutely for a transient moment in search of an inkling of clarity, but the man's exercised practice ensured no chinks were perceptible through his unbroken shield. Jon wordlessly yielded his search and opted to refrain from any additional involvement in fear of further transgressions exposing tightly safeguarded confidences.

Seizing the brief levity of the moment, Jon briskly bowed his head at the man ere another bout of reprehension wafted over him. He aimed to end the conversation punctually. "I'm afraid this is where I must diverge, Lord Varys. The Queen has not been feeling suitable this morning, and I must check-in on her." 

The Spider's lips crept up unsettlingly for a glimmer of an instance, "Do give Her Grace my best wishes for an expeditious rehabilitation?"

Jon's eyes narrowed at the man, before nodding promptly and wheeling to turn as his legs urged him away. _Far, far away,_ he hoped _._ However, he only made it a few paces before the Spider's fangs sank into his back.

"Haven't you ever dreamt of befalling to be _more_ than just the ' _Bastard of Winterfell'_?" Varys beckoned from behind him.

Jon's blood iced and a tense current shot within his body. Trepidation flooded through him, and his breathing hastened. Clutching his fists tightly, to the point they whitened, he hurriedly facilitated his inspiration. If only adequately enough so that he could riposte with some measure of certitude as he twisted his head over his shoulder, "All my life, I've wanted nothing more than to be Ned Stark's son." He paused before returning front, "Now, I possess something _different_ to endeavor for."

He needn't turn to perceive the ubiquitous simper that drew across the man's face. "Indeed, you do. Lord' _Snow'_." 

Jon's head snapped up the man's tactful emphasis, as alarm and incredulity asphyxiated him instantly. A voice suddenly echoed resoundingly throughout in his mind.

_"Stop it now, before it takes a life of its own and you can't control what it does to people. No matter how many you times you bend the knee. No matter what you swear!"_

The familiar plea was broken up by a striking retrospection of clattering and cawing Ravens.

Jon instantly spun around; eyes widened in cognizance. He quickly surged forth and securely caught the collar of the man's tunic, wrenching him with his tightening and clasped fists. He dragged the man from the peering eyes of the courtyard and brought the man back into the enclave of shadow be had initially substantiated from, before hurling him against the wall.

"What did you do?!" He exploded, yanking the man up, almost off his feet as he seethed through his teeth, "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!?"

The Spider made no inclination to withdraw from his grasp as Jon slackened his tightened hold on the man's garment. Varys' voice spoke with disturbing tranquility when he incurred his breath to reply, "What I've _always_ done. _Serve the realm."_

Jon eyes narrowed, " _The 'Realm,'_ what the _fuck_ does that even mean?" He coarsely shook the man as his heart continued to hammer, gaze hastening from eye to eye, "Who did you tell? Who were the Ravens to!?"

The Spider's smooth eloquence continued to unsettle him, "To those it matters most."

With an unyielding shove, Jon let the man down and started pacing speedily amongst the tight and shaded corridor. Distressing and thunderous solicitudes gradually receding, he rounded and met the man staunchly, "You do realize you've perpetrated _treason_ against the Queen?"

Varys shook his head resolutely, "What I've done is take steps to ensure the security of the realm, and the protection of its people."

Jon thrust his finger in the man's face, " _Daenerys is here to protect the people!"_ He spat as he snarled his teeth at the man, "But, for some judgment, she's not what's ' _right for the realm'?"_

"No," Varys evenly strode closer, "but _you_ are.

Jon wheeled back a few steps as he scoffed at the man with a potent mix of disbelief and disgust. His eyes never left the calculating and penetrating centers of the Spiders. Quickly, his face turned in a hardened line, and the corner of his mouth started to twitch with a barely withheld verve that burned within him. It took everything within his propensity to not unsheathe his sword and cut the man down where he stood for the words that passed through the gates of his mouth.

"No," Jon swung his head as he stated definitively, "I _don't_ aspire to rule. I've _never_ desired to."

"Then mayhaps, that is why you _should."_ The Spider drove forward.

"They say whenever a Targaryen is born, the gods flip a coin, and the world holds its breath. I'm not sure how her coin has _yet_ landed, but I'm quite certain about _yours_." Jon fastened a frighteningly cutting glare among Varys' beady and arachnid eyes, "I've known more Kings and Queens than any man living. I've heard what they say to crowds and seen what they do in the shadows. I've further their designs, however horrible, but what I say is true, _you would rule wisely_. While _she_ -,"

" _She_ -," he pointedly interposed the man, " _is my Queen._ " Jon dared Varys to utter another word as he gazed at the man's frowned face for a spiked moment. "I will not preside over _anything,_ without Daenerys at my side. _Do you understand me?_ "

The Spider's face twisted precariously at his words, but not before Jon suddenly bunched his neckband in his grasp once more and winched the man forward. He propelled him out of the shadows and almost sent the man to the muddied floor as he shoved him out into the middle of the courtyard. Varys regained his footing as he whirled around to face him, this time with beseeching eyes. "Jon, -"

He instantly dismissed the man's overture with a meander of the hand, but he did discover he reaped great satisfaction in the brief glimmer of _fear_ in the Spider's eyes, just as he had with Littlefinder in the very same castle. Jon turned his head to catch the form of his Second who was speedily closing the distance after appearing from the Great Hall.

"Jon," Dryden flagged as he rounded to him and bent over to catch his breath, "The maester was withdrawn, whoever commissioned the ravens took the opening of the vacancy to address their communications."

Jon unconcernedly glanced over and gave his dear friend a courteous nod, "I found the man accountable, Dryden." His friend offered an inaudible, 'oh,' as Jon seized Varys' shoulder and drew him over to the two of them. "Take Lord Varys and lock him in a cell. Under absolutely _no conditions_ should _anyone_ be permitted to speak with him. Am I understood?"

Dryden instantly signed in recognition, "Of course, Jon." His gaze flitted between the now-silent Spider, and Jon's own, "What has happened?"

"Treason." Jon yielded simply. Dryden's eye cast a daggering leer over to the man whose shoulder he now grasped as Jon placed a reassuring hand on his friend's arm, "After you've dispensed with Lord Varys, round up and gather all the lords still residing as part of their tenant from the Long Night. Assemble them in the Great Hall; we convene immediately."

Processing his orders, Dryden nodded, "Right away, my Lord." Promptly, the man turned and gave the Spider a firm push forward to begin their short trek. "Get a move on; let's go!" He barked before turning to two guards that watched the entire exchange with private interest, "Men, to me! Move!"

With the situation now out of his hands, Jon snatched a fleeting moment to consolidate his thoughts. He elevated his hand and began to tenderly knead his eyes, attempting to coax the tension that still enthralled him inflexibly. His mind coasted into reflection at the turn of events before working over a brief list in his head; _Arya, Daenerys, Bran, Sam, Howland._ And yet, ...

Somehow, _Lord Varys_ was now an appended addition to the list.

_How?_

It was perhaps one of life's more ambiguous and exceedingly challenging questions to ascertain. The _only_ explanation he could surmise at this critical turn of events would be... _Howland Reed?_

Jon shook his head at the notion, from the time he's spent with the man, he's only come off as authentic in his interventions and aims. A beguiling and contriving serpent wouldn't be of the character to shy away from retelling the tale of taking down one of the most acclaimed Knight's in all the Seven Kingdoms.

_No._ The Spider must've discovered it from an outside source.

_But, whom?_

Without taking too much to deliberate further on his own, Jon resettled his cloak and resigned his contemplation for the time being. Further steps and determinations needed to be made with the conjunction of Daenerys he concluded. Jon acknowledged that she, reasonably, wouldn't appreciate the idea of having one of her advisors locked up without her say first, but, Jon further resolved that Daenerys was just going to have to take a leap of faith with him one this one. Just as he had, when he told her about his revelation.

Admonishing further considerations, Jon decisively procured his steps and started to edge himself out of the courtyard and the short trek back to his quarters where his love await anticipating.

_And hopefully, with reassuring news from the Maester._

* * *

As Jon approached his quarters, he found Ghost's leisurely lounging form enduring as guardian in front of his door for whom awaited inside. He neared and knelt down aside his dear friend and offered gratifying scratches behind his ears with a chuckle, "I hope no one gave you any trouble?"

The wolf yipped and arose to his feet excitedly, nearly knocking him over. Jon submitted a hearty guffaw as he caught his balance, "Yes, yes, you did a _great_ job. Now, I have another vital mission for you. Are you up to the task?" Ghost practically started bouncing around with exuberance. He stroked his hand along the wolf's shimmering coat and met its ruby eyes, "Head to the cells and stand-guard for Lord Varys. Anyone gets close to talk to him, aside from Dryden, Daenerys, or myself, you keep them away. Can you do that?"The wolf howled and dashed away to eagerly begin his new assignment. Jon cracked a proud smile as he rose to his feet and returned his attention back to his own task at hand.

Without a moment's hesitation, Jon twisted the knob of his chamber door and hurried inside expeditiously. Promptly shutting the door behind him, he swiftly spun around and observed Daenerys sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in her gray coat with accentuated red highlights, her hands were held in Missendei's as the woman sat next to her. Daenerys' eyes were glistened and moist as the two were interlocked in hushed conversation, exchanging sobering and earnest gazes before his entrance tore them from their discussion.

Daenerys' head twisted to meet his silently entreating eyes, "Jon!" she called at the sight of him with startling gravity and sentiment.

His attention was replaced quickly by her handmaiden's as the woman rose from the bed and began shuffling towards him, and the door. As she neared, Missendei placed her hand on Jon's arm and gave a gentle squeeze, and offered a reassuring smile. With a nod, Missendei shifted past him and edged herself out of the door, omitting the two of them.

With them now alone, Daenerys rose quickly from where she sat on the bed and strode a few steps closer to him, before halting and idling a few steps away in the middle of the room. Her face flashed through a myriad of emotions all at once. Excitement and exuberance swelled principally as her face turned up with a sunny and beaming smile, before a concerned and frightened downturn began to gradually take over.

Jon observed her face carefully, and his heart immediately sank at the progression, "Dany, what -, what's wrong?" He called with tangible dread exuding from his voice.

Tears began to faintly sparkle from her oscillating amethyst eyes as her face tacked further downward with despondent uncertainty. Slowly, Daenerys returned her gaze, now with gripping trepidation permeating her features, while her breathing hitched. Her lips parted to finally speak, "Jon, I -," stammering temporarily, she choked on the words she considered to say before wrestling herself to finish, "I have something to tell you."

Unable to bear seeing her struggle insufferably any longer, Jon raced forward and enveloped her in his tender embrace. He brought his hand up to stroke her hair as she buried her face in his chest and began to softly weep. Jon's throat constricted tightly at the sound of her quiet cries. He swallowed the lump and immediately pushed the planned remarks of his treacherous discoveries out of his mind, and suspended them for another time. For now, he abdicated himself to gently rock Daenerys in his arms as he continually caressed her silky hair.

"What troubles you, my love?" Jon soothed as he leaned back somewhat and delicately shifted a lock of her silver-gold hair that had come to lay over her face before tucking it back behind her ear. "Is something the matter, what did the Maester say?" His voice cracked and wavered on the last statement in a fright that she was told something disastrous.

Sobs finally subsiding, Daenerys inched out of the comfort of his chest and wiped her face with her sleeve. Gradually, she crept her focus upwards once more to meet his concerned and entreating eyes. It was then, peering deeply into her violet orbs as her lips edged up shyly, that he began to understand that her tears weren't that of _despair_ , but rather, of illimitable _hope_.

"Jon," she murmured his name softly once more as she delicately brought her hand up to cup his face, and began to run her thumb smoothly along his cheek, "I'm, -, _I'm with child_." Her eyes immediately swelled again, and tears fringed down her face as she held her steadfast and measuring gaze upon his.

Jon recoiled backward as her astonishing announcement tided through him. His mouth hung in corporeal surprise, and his eyes danced among hers disbelievingly. His thoughts darted expeditiously from one to the next; _How? When? But_ , … _I thought?_ It all churned ceaselessly as he silently gaped back at her.

A brief twinge of anxiety ran gambit through him. His habitual bout of a _'bastards undeservedness'_ that clanged at him whenever he dreamt of something he desired. This feeling, however, was rapidly washed away as a sensation of absolute rapture and exhilaration laved and flooded over him. Carrying him off his feet and voyaging him into an interminable expanse filled with naught but a filling serenity and joviality.

Jon inferred he might've been retracted a bit too long as he belatedly took notice of Daenerys' shimmering eyes peering back with ratcheting panic the longer his lips remained parted in perforating reticence. His heart dropped at her expression as her lips began to tremor slightly. It was the same expression that wracked his aching core nights prior, when she had pleaded, no, _begged_ him to not be inconsiderate.

" _Say_ something, Jon," she strangled out through new-fallen tears, " _anything,_ please."

Instantly, Jon surged forward and brought their bodies against one another's. He briefly allowed his heat to seep to her encouragingly before he swiftly lowered and crashed his lips passionately upon hers.

Daenerys immediately mewed at his comforting kiss and soothing arms that enveloped around her. He pressed himself forward and stole more kisses from her honeyed lips as he inched them ever backward.

Running out of air, the two finally separated from their tempestuous exchange as Daenerys inclined to look at him imploringly once more. Desperate to reassure her, to relieve her innate concerns, he brought his hand up and rolled his thumb over her cheek. She naturally leaned into his soothing touch.

"Is this _okay_?" Daenerys murmured as her eyes fluttered closed, "Is this what you _want_ , Jon?"

As she gingerly opened them again to meet his gaze, he let a smile stretch across his face and brighten his features. "I could think of nothing else that would bring me more joy than you. _The_ _mother of my child_."

Daenerys choked on a sob, as she instantly darted forward and returned her lips to his. It was his turn to stagger backward as her intense advance had him spinning, but he continued to endeavor as they whimpered surreptitiously.

Meeting fire, with fire, the two lost themselves in the poignancy of the moment before he gradually eased their lips and motioned to rest their foreheads together. Still holding Daenerys tight in his arms, he reluctantly willed himself to break up the tender moment to address his curiosity that brimmed insatiably.

_As well as a swell of conviction._

Jon elected to verbalize and ascertain the acumens he believed he already assumed, "Dany, ... _how_? I thought...?" His lips remained slightly parted in anticipation for a spare moment as she let a smile beam across her face.

"I, -," Daenery disentangled her throat as her emotions still lingered on the surface with acute piquancy, "I think I've _always_ known with you. I just, I didn't want to believe it... to _hope,_ again."

He delicately maneuvered his thumbs to roll over the back of her hands that he held. Looking down, his face contorted with a wry smirk and his brow arched as he regained her focus, "I guess, ... that witch, _really wasn't_ a reliable -,"

"Don't you say it!" Daenerys broke out into jubilant mirth as she lightly knocked his shoulder. He reeled back in feigned injury and mimed a wordless, 'ouch!' She peered up at him from below her shy lashes with her teeming violet orbs.

Jon stepped forward to reclaim his spot in their embrace, encircling her once more, but peering back at her steady gaze with serious and keen focus. He knew his own sentiments, but he needed to be considerate to her own as well as his solicitude traversed his lips, "Is this what _you_ want, Daenerys? I know that I'm, ... not exactly -"

Whatever his mind endeavored to doubt of himself, she wouldn't allow it as her hands raised to caress his bearded cheek. Daenerys smiled wide as her eyes moistened with fresh tears that pooled at the bottom of her lids, "I could think of no greater _father_ to my child, and no better man to revel in love with, than _you_ , Jon Snow."

He blasphemed her way with words as his own lips trembled slightly and his own tears surged forward unbidden. Instantly, he tightened his hold on her and pressed her frame flat to his body. He gently stroked the flow of her hair as she snuggled comfortingly into his neck.

_What would father think right now? What would Ned Stark?_

_Would they look down and smile? Would they be proud?_

Reflecting on his own upbringing and childhood, Jon's heart palpitated at the idea of being able to ensure his own child never had to feel as he had. He allowed himself to sob as tides of rapture, and warmth circulated within him undeterred for he had obtained something he thought unattainable. _For the first time in his life, he had a family. A true family._ One to hold, one to cherish, one he would protect with his life and love every waking second. _A family with a child that never had to grow up feeling like they aren't worth something, that they were never enough like he had his entire life._

_A child to call his own; that will be loved, protected, appreciated, and praised._

He slowly reigned himself in and gently peeled their foreheads apart from the place of respite where they had rested against one another. Regretfully, and reluctantly, Jon composed himself before diving into a contrarily surprising, and far less welcoming discovery.

"Dany," Jon sighed, "I have something to tell you as well." He quickly cast his eyes down to the floor, but not before Daenerys wrapped her arms tightly around him. Refusing to leave his side for a second as she gazed trepidatiously at him, lips slightly parted, her focus flitted apprehensively between his downturned eyes and his own anxious inspirations.

Absconding perhaps for but another moment too long, she proceeded to wrench him untimely stupor, "Jon, what is it?" She urged with saturated anxiety as she ran her hand up his arm to coax his rigid shoulders.

Jon, sucking in his breath, shut his eyes as he started, "Varys, _he knows,_ " he uttered simply, "I don't know _how_ , but he _knows the_ _truth_."

Daenerys took a deliberate and guarded step backward, scrutinizing him gravely before it was her gaze that drooped to the floorboards. Jon could see her breathing had visibly stalled as well, as she proceeded to contemplate in pensive silence.

"What gives you a cause to suppose such a thing?" She questioned as her face twisted in skepticism and, predominantly, _fear_.

With one more fleeting reception between her eyes, Jon shifted and strode over to the table. He braced his knuckles heavily upon its surface as he hunched over. "He dispatched a dozen ravens this morning while the maester was with you." He needn't turn to hear her distinct gasp, "He also tried to convince me to press my claim, with _his_ support. Claiming you weren't what's _right_ for the people, … what's, ' _right for the realm,'_ I believe were his exact words." Expunging a languished sigh, he signed air quotes before turning around to face her once more.

Instinctually, Jon closed the distance back over to Daenerys whose breathing had continued to hasten exponentially. Jon gently took her imperceptibly trembling hands before her eyes laggingly met his. He beamed tenderly with as much assurance as possible as he moved to soothe her severing distress, "I've had Dryden lock him up, he's in the Winterfell dungeon as we speak." His eyes declined momentarily, "I'm sorry, Daenerys. I would've confronted you first, but I fretted to allow the man to omit my sight for even a moment."

Without hesitation, Daenerys squeezed his hands, bringing his attention back up to her where he now glimpsed her beholden, and somewhat more relaxed features. "You did the _right_ thing, Jon. Do not depreciate your decisions." She said calmly as she slid her hands to plant squarely along his arms, "I meant what I said last night, Jon. I want _this_. I want to do this, _together._ To do so requires trust, and I trust _you. Never doubt that._ "

Jon stared back at her then, heart stammering and ready to burst from his chest. He admitted and recognized that he was despondent for conviction in himself, and that she was affluent with it. Whenever he was with her, she gave him the courage to trust in himself. To _believe_ in _Jon Snow._ In her presence, he found he allowed himself to think that, mayhaps, he _could_ be the man that she envisioned him to be. To dream of the things he might accomplish, with her by his side. Hand-in-hand.

_He knew what he longed for in that instance._

_What he had wanted to do for so long._

" _My King_ , …" Jon whispered, " _from this day, until the end of my days._ "

Daenerys' eyes snapped to his and widened with recognition, her mouth hung wide as Jon submitted a shy and timid smile. Her face flushed crimson red as he brought his hand to brush her cheek. His heart pounded in his chest and thundered in his ears deafeningly. A slight twinge of apprehension, and fear, suddenly clutched him. Jon found the longer he hesitated and dwelled on the perception of what he aimed to do, the more he fretted of possible ways it could go wrong.

So instead of idling and worrying any longer, he instead sucked in his breath and fired off the words he felt clamoring in his mind. No severance, no hesitation.

The words he had yearned to speak ever since he had knocked on her door that fateful night, and felt his heart open to drown in blithe revelry and unalloyed passion, the likes he never had before.

The words he had aspired to say since his lips first crashed on hers, and he felt his reservations disappear, and the invisible shackles that had felt bound him his whole life clatter to the floor.

The words he always knew lurked beneath the surface, waiting for the right moment, ever since he had awoken with her in arms and discovered what it meant to be truly _home_.

" _Marry me,_ Daenerys _._ "

At first, she oscillated in silence as she endeavored a step backward in disbelief. For a moment, Jon's heart stilled as he worried he might've overstepped, and she had recoiled from him in incredulity.

Tears welled and slipped from her eyes as soon as the initial concussion of his query wore off, she staggered before her hand moved to cover her mouth. He felt if he hearkened intently enough, he might just have been able to discern the perceptible pounding of her heart. Her mouth fringed to vocalize several times, but each time barely omitting wisps of air.

Instead, Jon pressed forward and continued, "From the first day I met you, Daenerys, I knew you were _different_. I _knew_ you were going to _change the world._ " He inched closer and enveloped her shaking form in his arms once more, his own eyes had begun to shimmer in the light as their eyes locked. "I never dreamt that you were going to change _mine."_

Daenerys' lips trembled, "Jon, I -," she gulped to start, but he caringly paused her as he recommenced.

"You make me feel more _treasured_ than all the gold in the seven kingdoms, more _cherished_ than a trophy from a million tourneys, more _sacred_ than the old gods and the new." He paused a beat, "You make me feel _whole_ , Daenerys."

Quickly, she wiped the tears that had befallen down her cheek as she elevated face to meet his adoring eyes. "But, Jon, what about those who would oppose? Your family? The Lords?" Briefly, Daenerys' face took on a consequential look.

Surprisingly, doubt didn't even flicker for a moment through him; instead, his face twisted into a beaming smile, "Don't you see?" He exclaimed excitedly, "We don't have to _run away_ from this, Daenerys. Rather, we can _embrace_ it, hand-in-hand. ' _We are stronger together_ ,' you told me; this is no different, so let us _stand together_ in _this_. No matter what comes."

Gently, Jon peeled away slightly and peered profoundly into her eyes, just as she had the previous night when they laid together simply wrapped up one another's love. He extended his hands out and floated them in front of her in soundless inquiry, before pronouncing a single word whose inscrutable import could not be understated, " _Together_?"

Without equivocation, Daenerys reached out and took his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers. They both silently gazed at their interlocked hands. A wordless gesticulation of avowal before they fastened their glistening eyes back to one another.

" _Together_ ," Daenerys affirmed needlessly.

Having tired of words, Jon rolled forward and gradually reclined his head to invade her space. As he neared her face and her lips drew within lengths of his own, he worshiped her hooked breathing and intoxicating warmth that leeched to his body. Sealing the last tantalizing distance, their lips slowly clasped on one another's as they settled into a profoundly intimate and entrancing exchange.

As their mouths began to increase with dueling passion in a corporeal semblance of the sensations and emotions that surged within their intertwined and enamored hearts, Daenerys grabbed handfuls of his cloak and began edging herself back until her legs hit the back of the bed. Falling backward, she pulled him on top of her before spinning them over and straddling him.

Jon permitted his heart to pound with untrammeled fervency at the thought that this goddess above him was soon to _his beloved_. A wide smile beamed across his face as he brought his hands to run up and down her sides. Trailing her figure with his focus, their gazes caught as he drew his attention up to her likewise beaming face. He smoothly rolled them to their side, and seized more intermittent kisses from her lips, before striving to get lost in a trance as he peered into her eyes for an expansive moment.

Daenerys allowed him his flight-of-fancy before inquisitiveness got the better of her with a grin. "What's going on behind those _brooding_ eyes of yours, Jon Snow?"

_What wasn't going on?_ He thought morosely in conjecture.

His mind felt a blur, he couldn't begin to discern his fate in the last few months. The fulfillment of what he felt was his life's ambition, the development of a revelation that turned his world upside down, and the tether he had come to possess and love that kept him grounded when his anxieties and apprehension would otherwise get the better of him. It all mixed dizzyingly in his head for he had discovered the answers to the long-harbored pleadings he held his entire life.

_For he had found his place of belonging,_

_He did discover the family he longed for his whole life,_

_And,_

_He had found a home in the place he least expected._

Jon's mouth split into a dazzling and radiant smile as he stared upon her, tenderly stroking her cheek with his thumb, and eliciting soft mews as he did so, "Just, ... _reflecting_."

Daenerys arched her brows up at him with a grin, "I hope about how fortunate you are that your _insufferable stubbornness_ didn't cause me to burn you alive when I first met you." She casually peered at her nails and shot a wry smirk from underneath her lashes, "I would be remiss to admit, however, ... it _did_ inexplicably gravitate me towards you..."

Submitting a quaint chuckle before he inched down to graze his lips against hers, he murmured softly, "How lucky am I to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard?"

Daenerys beamed genially as her face flooded crimson. Dreamily locking eyes once more, she drew her finger down his chest, "This just means my _brave_ _King_ can't go endeavoring on his _heroic_ _escapades_ as much as he used to." He smirked, while she graced him with a wink.

"Hm, good luck holding me back." Jon remarked as he nestled their noses, "How else am I supposed to continue to impress and win over the _mother of dragons_?"

Suddenly, Daenerys swiftly flipped them over and smoothed her chest over his lounging torso. Craning her head up from his neck, before rounding in front of his face, she articulated with tangible sincerity, "You needn't _ever_ doubt your worth, Jon. One day, I'll make you see yourself as I do. Through my eyes, you shall begin to know the man who shall become _my King_. I don't care if it takes my entire life, I will enthusiastically be there to remind you every single day."

Jon instantly felt his heart leap to his throat as he choked on a sob. His eyes filled with glistening tears as he let his face continue undeterred in its wide smile. He endeavored pathetically to come up with a response.

"Daenerys, - " he choked as she swiftly hushed him with a tender finger across his lips.

Gradually, Daenerys lowered her face down to his and replaced her finger with her soft lips that met his smoothly. This kiss was remarkably distinctive, unlike prior times, and aimed to fulfill something far more profound. It notably lacked the ardor and unsatiable urgency of exchanges prior, and instead, was rather unhurried, languished even.

The world disappeared and left the two of them entirely enveloped in their heat as their mouths tenderly stirred and melded against one another's, the only grounding detail they could fasten on to. It was as nothing in that moment mattered except their soft and tender touch against one another's.

_The feeling wasn't just a show of passion or emotion, but rather, a soundless assertion of vows left unspoken._

Jon broke away for a pause as their eyes languidly reopened. He peered into her, elevating his hand to delicately hold her face as he finally finishing what he strived to say, "I love you, Daenerys," Jon breathed, " _I love you, so much_."

She smiled overwhelmingly at his proclamations. " _I love you_ , Jon Snow."

His thoughts drifted after another extended moment lost in her violet orbs, and soon, his attention sobered, and his gaze gradually intensified. Daenerys looked up at him, concernedly at his steadily darkening eyes, "What's wrong, my love?"

Jon exhaled as he reluctantly rolled away from her, and relocated to perch on the edge of the bed. His mind anguished, as all he yearned to do than spend the rest of the day in this chamber with her, but reality had more _crushing matters_ that needed to be addressed, posthaste. His eyes trailed down to the floor, as she proceeded to seat next to him and moved to take his hands.

"It's _time_ , Daenerys." He murmured softly.

" _How long?_ "Daenerys whispered as she swallowed, "How long until the ravens reach their destinations?"

Jon shifted to face her and gave her hands an encouraging press, " _A_ _few days_ , give-or-take."

Daenerys nodded understandably, "Then, it's crucial we inform the lords preemptively. They _must_ discover it from _us_ ; _before_ anywhere else." Her eyes reflected the unyielding conviction that subsisted in his own.

Swiftly, Jon stood from the bedside, "I've already asked Dryden to assemble all the Lords still residing from the Long Night. We will discuss and familiarize them there." Daenerys rose in rejoinder as he continued, "I will go and gather Howland Reed, among others, and I will ask him to convey his affirmation and knowledge in support of us."

Daenerys assented as she relocated to deliberately pace in front of his bed, "Good. They will believe his words, more so than anyone else. Particularly as a long-standing friend of your father's, and House Stark's."

Jon's voice dropped low, "Daenerys, I won't lie to you, the Lords _won't_ take this well. I want to precaution you now." He moved closer and encircled her traversing figure, so she stilled in his arms, "Do you trust me?" He asked unnecessarily.

Instantly, Daenerys nodded, " _Always_ , Jon."

Jon smiled fleetingly before his face grew grave with disappointment. He expelled an anguished sigh as he admitted, "I fear it might not be good succession for the Northern Lords to learn of my parentage, _as well as_ our agreement to marry at the corresponding time."

Languishing an exhalation of her own, Daenerys hesitantly signed her head in agreement after a moment of thoughtful contemplation. "I recognize if what you say is true, then I agree, we should wait for the _opportune_ moment."

Inching forward to console the discontent evident in her voice from having to continue to conceal their public affections, Jon rolled his fingers down her cheek, "While we may have to postpone an announcement, do not think this makes you any less _mine_ , and I, _yours_..." He smiled brightly as she beamed back up at him with revitalized vigor.

Daenerys raised herself to the tips of her toes and hooked her arms around his neck. She crept closer till their lips melded together lovingly before slowly settling back on her haunches. They gazed and reveled in one another's shared determination for a moment before Daenerys broke herself away with a resolute nod, "I will go and get Lord Tyrion. No doubt he won't be pleased to be hearing of the news this way, but I suspect he has had his own suspicions."

Jon bowed his agreement as he grasped her hands, "Then we both have our tasks cut out for us." He smiled as he led her to exit his quarters before pausing just short of the door.

Turning towards Daenerys one final time before they crossed the threshold, and their lives changed forever, for better or for worse, he tendered one last reassuring smile. "You ready?"

Daenerys glowed back, "With you? For _anything_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Varys' plot seems to have fallen on deaf ears with Jon, but the ravens have already been sent. With the latest information going out that originally threatened to tear the two apart, Jon and Daenerys instead decide to move ever closer together as they must now make the decision to inform everyone themselves before the people start to hear from outside sources and devise their own introspections. 
> 
> Are Varys' schemes dead in the water? Did you enjoy Jon and Daenerys' scene? How do you think the Northern Lords will react?
> 
> ...
> 
> Impromptu poll; I've read countless fics that double space their paragraphs like in this chapter, do you prefer it this way or would you say the original format of the previous chapters was better? 
> 
> ...
> 
> I'll be real, this was another chapter that I struggled with quite a bit. Rewrites, upon rewrites, I really really hope I did the very essential scene justice. Needless to say, I'm extremely anxious. This won't be the only chapter dedicated to their marriage, it's just that life has a way of never tapping the breaks and our favorite love-dragons have other incredibly important things to handle in the interim, but fear not!
> 
> Finally, I wanted to address the update rate. Since starting my job a few weeks ago, I've been shooting for an update every weekend which I've been hitting regularly so far. I just wanted to clarify that and make you all aware of when you can routinely look forward to new chapters for my story. I hope you all understand. Love you all, as always!
> 
> ~Undead


	10. Armor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon and Daenerys decide to be proactive forebearers of information and confront the Northern Lords about the latest revelations and discoveries.

* * *

Reluctantly, the two of them pushed themselves out of Jon's chambers to commence preparations for a confrontation that both of them dreaded in equal measure. To steal a mercurial moment of respite before the two of them split, for the time being, Jon quickly snaked his arm around Daenerys' waist and spun her to give her one last comforting kiss. While initially surprised, she immediately eased into the connection and ran her fingers along his clad chest. Grudgingly, and with a heavy sigh, she finally broke away with a determined nod as she met Jon's eyes. He met her anxious gaze with a tight, but reassuring smile, before shifting from the comfort of her presence with a nod and beginning his short trek to Howland Reed's chambers, and leaving her to go and gather Lord Tyrion.

As Jon's distance from her grew, and he descended the steps from the walkway leading to his chamber door, he promptly pushed himself into the courtyard. He discovered it bustling with activity as dozens were operating to make their way to the spontaneous gathering in the Great Hall. During this commotion, he swiftly managed to get a glimpse of a man on his list that he needed to address.

"Sam!" With a high wave of his arm, he shouted over the crowds to his old friend, "Sam, over here!"

Samwell was delayed to hear him over the other illimitable calls and yells of the courtyard, but he eventually found the mark as his focus located him. Soon as they made eye-contact, Samwell began gradually making his way over across the yard, politely stopping and yielding for some elderly passerby along the way. All rather quickly, his friend finally rounded in front of him as they ducked off together to find refuge from the outpouring traffic to avoid getting trampled.

"Jon! Has - has something happened?" His friend asked nervously with an arch of his brow. "I'm told you're gathering all the Lords for a meeting?" 

He gave his confirmation, "Aye, that's correct." Carefully, Jon leaned forward and laid a reassuring press on his friend's shoulder, "Sam, I need you to do something for me."

"Oh of, -, of course, Jon." Sam shifted with growing anxiety, "What couldI help with?"

Jon met his friend's gaze seriously then, "The High Septon's journal, the one that you mentioned has the information regarding Rhaegar's marriage annulment, I need you to get it and bring it to me, right now. I require it's contents."

Samwell looked perplexed for a moment before bowing his head in understanding, "I'll go get it right away then. I'll... meet you outside the Great Hall shortly?" 

Jon patted his friend's shoulder, "Thank you, Sam."

Without a further moment's hesitation, he watched as Sam wobbled his way back through the courtyard and got lost once more in the crowd of people moving about. With his side-goal already accomplished, he shifted his attention to the original intent of his venture. Weaving again through passerby's, Jon quickly found himself upon the guest-chamber and punctually raised his hand to knock on the door. After rapping on the door a couple of times, merely an instant later, the door creaked open, and Howland Reed welcomed him with a face of surprise.

"Lord Snow, I certainly wasn't expecting your presence again so soon." Howland stepped aside and invited him with a waving gesticulation of his hand as he pushed the door wide. "Please, do come in."

Jon graciously nodded and pushed his way inside before turning to address to the man with haste, "Lord Reed, I fear my presence is under _abrupt_ circumstances." 

Howland's lips parted to query as he slowly closed the door beyond him, but instead, he remained silent for a moment. Taking a concentrated deep breath, Howland made his way back into the chamber and motioned to a glass of water, to which Jon signaled his acceptance, as the man poured them drinks.

"I _assume_ , this, ... ' _troubling circumstance'_ that you mention is the very reason the gathering was called in the Great Hall for this evening, is it not?" Howland implored obviously.

"I'm afraid so, my Lord." Jon lamented as he gulped his cup. 

Smoothly, he glimpsed around the room and made for the man to sit on the chair that he had positioned next to the bed. While Howland obliged his request, he pulled his chair from the desk by the window ad pulled it into the middle of the room and twisting it around so he could sit facing the man. Jon cast his eyes down the floor, "I'm afraid, Lord Reed, that I must inquire about any reception you may have had with Lord Varys during your stay these past nights."

At the mention of the name, Howland sat up straighter, and more attentive, "Ah yes, the 'Spider' as they call him." He stirred and placed his glass on the edge of the bed frame, "The only time I've spoken with the man since my arrival has been after our first meet. He came to me asking about the purpose of my visit. To which I responded that I intended to swear allegiance to House Targaryen. Not a complete truth, but also not a complete lie, from a certain point of view."

Jon smiled as he looked in silence at the man examining intensity. Ultimately, his study yielded the same results as all previous efforts. The man spoke genuinely, without hesitation or second thought, and with acute confidence. With a sigh of impediment, Jon promptly rose from his seat and began pacing the room.

Howland spoke once more, "What has happened, Jon? Why ask about Lord Varys?"

The man's curiosity halted his pacing as he drank the rest of the contents of his glass and set it back on the table. He turned and met Howland's eyes, solemnly, "Because he _knows_ the revelation about me." Howland's face bent slightly in doubt but quickly subsisted as Jon's ascertainment not waver, "Upon discovery, he's sent out dozens of ravens this morning to alert as many as possible about my identity, and conceivably rally support opposite Daenerys."

"I see," Howland's face blanched as he pitched forward and clasped his hands together in front of him in silent consultation, "The man must've somehow put the pieces together with my arrival." He quickly bowed his head in courtesy, "I know this is the last thing you wanted. I'm sorry, Jon."

Swiftly, Jon edged over to the sitting man and pressed his hand to the man's arm reassuringly, "I do not put this blame on you, Lord Reed. I'm very grateful for your presence and the information you've shared with me. Without you, I would've lived in skepticism of my own identity, with little in the way of reliable testimony or solid evidence."

Howland offered a humble smile before adhering his gaze with a fierce determination that reflected his own. The man held his gaze for a second. Jon could tell he was the one being analyzed now. "You... you intend to inform the Lords, don't you?"

Jon smiled and nodded in confirmation at the man's intellect, "Aye, and I need _your_ help to do so. _We both_ need your help. This isn't a situation be wanted to be in, at least not yet, but we know we can't break this news without your attestation."

Howland's face broadened as his voice grew with trepidation, "Are, -, are you certain this is wise? What about your pledge to Daenerys Targaryen? Surely, you must already know that the Northern Lords will choose you over a foreigner at every point in the road? This will create conflict, I'm sure."

Slowly, Jon stepped back over to the desk by the window and stood for a moment in thought. In truth, he couldn't answer in favor of or against an entirely resolute answer. So instead, he stuck to the things he _did know;_ Mainly how the ravens Lord Varys had sent were not going to bode well with those who received it. Whatever the Spider had to say about him and Daenerys would no doubt be incendiary, and work hard to undermine everything they have been working for. All for personal gain.

He shifted back to face Howland, who was still patiently waiting, "It's the only choice we have. We cannot warrant the Lords to be influenced by other's words. They must learn it from us." 

Swiftly then, Howland stood up, steadfast resolve etched on his face, "What is it you require from me then?"

Jon grinned at the man's eagerness, "I need the _truth_ , Lord Reed. I need you to recount the Lords the same information you told me when you arrived."

The man nodded, "Then you shall have the truth, but will it be enough for the Lords? No doubt, some of them won't believe what I have to say. No matter my long-standing relationship with House Stark."

Jon acknowledged the man's concerns, "You won't be the only source coming forward. My friend Samwell is collecting the High Septon's journal with the information regarding Rhaegar's marriage annulment with Elia. In tandem, you will corroborate each other's stories."

"Then it's all decided then," Howland submitted an inspired smile as he made for the door to his chambers to exit. "This is the moment Lord Stark was readying for his entire life. I'm sorry he's not here to be here to witness what he desired to bestow for so long."

Jon extended a languished sigh, "Me too."

* * *

Pushing herself through the throng of people in the courtyard, Daenerys edged along the sides of the thorough-fare until she managed to escape the stream of Lords making their way to the Great Hall. Now able to move freely, she stayed along her path and towards Tyrion's quarters to gather him in time for the big revelation. Within only a brief moment, she arrived at Tyrion's door and let her hand gently rap on his chamber door. 

"Yes, what is it?" His voice rang out, laggardly from the other side of the door.

"Lord Tyrion, it's Daenerys. I need you to come with me." Her voice must've immediately sobered him as she heard a chair get tossed aside as if he got up speedily before he swung the door open wide. 

Tyrion met her serious gaze for a lengthened moment as he probed the pretense of his presence. "Your Grace? I wasn't expecting you this evening."

She frowned at his ignorance, "Lord Snow has called for an urgent meeting of all the Lords currently tenant at Winterfell, _that includes you_ , my Lord Hand."

Tyrion's face broke into a flurry of confusion for a moment, before resettling among feigned conversance. Slowly he fringed himself out of his chamber doors and shut it promptly behind him. Thankfully, he left the goblet, or whatever drink he possessed that he had been sipping, inside his quarters. He smelt of alcohol, but she still motioned forward for them to commence their trek to the Great Hall. 

After a few paces, Tyrion peered up at her, concernedly, and without reservation, "Can I presume this meeting will address why Lord Snow drove Lord Varys into the mud and detained him?"

Daenerys did not break her stride, and her eyes remained locked in focus on the ground and space ahead of her as she answered, "It shall."

At her brevity, Tyrion purposely began to slow his steps, eager to learn more erudition than what she was presenting. "Forgive me, but I've known Varys for a vast stretch of my life, and I also know of Jon Snow and his... _temperament._ Are you sure he has made a _rational_ judgment and not an _emotional_ one?"

Daenerys wheeled on him then and froze him in place with her piercing gaze, "I'm _quite_ certain of this, my Lord."

He crooked his head at her and slightly narrowed his eyes, "With all respect, Your Grace, but your faith in Jon's counsel when it comes to your advisor is... _troubling_."

Her own eyes locked staunchly with his, as there gazed in defiance of one another. "As is your overconfidence in your _friend."_

Tyrion nearly jeered at her, but before he could retort, Daenerys quickly shifted and turned to finish their walk to the Great Hall. As the two rounded and entered the courtyard, which was now practically empty, Tyrion glanced up at her one more time before walking through the door of the Great Hall to join the gathering congregation, "Daenerys, I -," 

"Not another word, Lord Tyrion." She cut him off, "Wait and listen, _then_ make your judgment. You are still capable of that, are you not?"

He shot her an unamused glare before nodding his head and sucking in further engagements. Instead, he pushed himself to enter the Great Hall, where the other Lords were awaiting. Daenerys stood idle outside the hall in anticipation of Jon, whom she assumed was finishing gathering Howland Reed so they can begin together.

The wait wasn't long, but the palpable dread erupting within her made the tense few moments drag on for terms. She knew as soon as they walked through the doors of the Great Hall, that their lives would never be the same. That the eyes that gazed upon them would be either incriminating or supportive; there would be no middle-ground. 

As Jon strode to meet her alongside Howland Reed, he offered as much of a comforting smile as he could before rounding in front of her and stopping as Howland took a spot next to them. The man broke the tense silence, "I must admit when I first contemplated coming to visit you after the Long Night, this is _not_ exactly what I had in mind I would be doing."

Jon laughed as he shook his head in shared disbelief, "Believe us, Lord Reed, neither did we." He shot the man a small and sympathetic smirk.

Howland's offered a quaint, and moderately uncertain laugh. "Last chance, you still want to do this?" 

Daenerys smiled, "We wouldn't be able to do it without you, Lord Reed, thank you for standing by us in this."

Howland's face flushed as he bowed his head with a broad and placid smile, "It's my honor, Your Graces."

Suddenly, Jon let loose with a hearty chuckle, "' _Your Graces,'"_ he reiterated the man's words as he drew his hand down his face and cast his eyes over to meet hers, "I guess I should best get used to that, shouldn't I?"

Daenerys smirked up at him as she closed the distance, enveloping herself in his arms as she gazed up at him, "Mm, it's got quite a ring to it. I quite like it, don't you?"

Howland coughed into his fist, awkwardly, "I will, uh, meet you two inside and give you both a moment."

Jon laughed once more and nodded at the man as he wrapped his arms tightly around her, "Thank you, Lord Reed. We'll be right with you." 

Promptly the man bowed and turned to enter the Feast Hall and join the awaiting Lords and Nobles currently residing and waiting for their new King and Queen. With the two now alone, Jon swiftly turned Daenerys into his embrace. She mewed at the contact before casually meeting his determined gaze. He ran his thumb down her cheek as she leaned into his touch and let her eyes flutter shut, "No matter what happens, no matter what the Lords may say, I'm with you Daenerys. Now, and always."

Daenerys perched herself up on her toes and hooked her arms around his neck, "Now, and always, my King." 

He smiled profoundly as he tenderly nestled their noses together, "My _Queen_ ," he whispered across his lips as he moved to mold them one final time in relative peace. 

Slowly breaking away from their embrace, Daenerys lowered herself back on to her haunches and set her royal mask in place. She offered a quaint smile as she glanced over to him.

"You've got to teach me how to do that one day." Jon grinned as he peered upon her now-measured and controlled features.

She had to purse her lips to prevent herself from snickering as she submitted a pleasing nod and offered her arm for him to take. "Shall we begin?"

* * *

The Great Hall was congested with people all waiting to hear whatever news the Lord of the North had to share that would withhold their longed-for travels back to their homes, and to their families. There was the occasional cough to break the stony silence and the occasional creaking of wood benches, but otherwise, not a single distinguishable sound was uttered. The Lords gathered grasped some semblance of the urgent necessity to assemble, for they had already had their celebratory gathering to champion and drink away the memories of the victory of the Long Night, and they understood that this would not be a repeat.

_No, they recognized this was something far more momentous than just joyous jubilee._

Striding in side-by-side, arms at their sides, their hands gently laced with one another's as they did so, Jon and Daenerys bravely made their way through the gathering of Lords and Nobles and advanced to take their designated spots at the head table. As the two neared and rounded the table, Sansa cast Jon a distressed look as they coasted behind her. He submitted a tight and placating simper as he fringed around her, and Howland Reed, who sat at the end of the long table to Sansa's right. They deftly scuffled past the two northerners before Jon rounded to pull the chair out to his left so she could take her seat. Tyrion extended a thin smile and glare from the side of his eyes from the far-left hand side of the table where he sat alone. His outward unease was evident without the confidence of his long-time associate off to the side in his usual precarious spot.

Daenerys kindly appreciated the gesture and smiled at Jon as she maneuvered herself and made ready to take her seat, but would not before he took his as well. They exchanged one last reassuring glance at one another, before shifting their ample consideration to the shuffling and anxiously anticipating assemblage that had gathered in front of them. 

Mentally coaxing himself, she assumed, Daenerys observed as Jon pitched his eyes down to the table in front of him before shutting them closed for a short moment. He was allowing relaxed respiration to flow through his form and soothe his tense shoulders that she could ascertain from his rigid stance. After another quick beat had passed, his eyes opened once more as he cast his gaze out to the swathe of people in the hall.

"My Lords, I thank you all for taking the time to gather this evening. I wouldn't have called for this meeting, and delayed your homecomings unless it was of the _utmost_ importance." Jon's voice bellowed and carried through the hall with unwavering tonality. "The matter of which I elect to discuss with you tonight _is_ of unparalleled importance. It involves not only myself but the _Queen of the Seven Kingdoms;_ Daenerys Targaryen, as well as the sanctity of the North as we know it ."

Daenerys tore her gaze away from Jon for a moment to observe Sansa's quickly intensifying eyes that were fixated on the back of her brother's head as he spoke. She noted Howland was sitting back in his chair with his hands folded gracefully in his lap with his eyes shut in meditation, before glancing tentatively over to Tyrion, who immediately met her with supplicating eyes. She offered a dip in return before her attention was drawn back to Jon as he continued. 

"Tonight, I would announce a revelation, one of which I had only found out about a couple nights ago." As he closed, Jon slowly shifted in place to face Howland Reed sitting at the end of the table to his right, "To administer this discovery, I would like the chance for an honored guest, and long-time ally and friend of House Stark, to rise and the opportunity to introduce himself." 

Following Jon's polite gesticulation, Howland Reed smoothly pushed out of his seat and stood straight, as Jon resigned himself and sat down in his chair. As he did so, Jon twisted to face her and shot her an apprehensive glance, which prompted her to slyly glide her hand over to take his that rested on his leg just underneath the table's guise.

Howland cleared his throat briefly as he caught the rapt attention of the quietly stirring and rustling Lords, "Good evening. Many of you gathered here tonight might be familiar with House Reed or myself, others may not, but regardless of personal connection, allow me to indulge you in a bit of my history." Howland slowly shifted on his feet before fringing out from behind the table and casually edging out into the front and taking a long glance across the faces that stare back. "My name is Howland Reed, and I've been a close friend of Ned Stark's since the first day I met him over two decades ago now. I was introduced to him by his sister, Lyanna Stark, during my time around the Tourney of Harrenhal all those years ago."

At the mention of the infamous tourney hailed as the precursor to the Rebellion that sought to overthrow the mad-king, many of the Northerners began to murmur disgruntedly in instinctual reflex. Howland quickly reeled their focus back in by twisting the figurative dagger and getting to the point, "I stand before you tonight, to clear a bed of lies; deceptions that have been going on for over a generation." Many Lords shifted uncomfortably in their seats, while Daenerys felt Jon's grip tighten on her own. She squeezed him reassuringly in return, a silent and physical reaffirmation that she was there for him. "Robert's _Rebellion_ ; was built on a _lie_. _Rhaegar's raping of Lyanna;_ was built on a _lie_. But most relative as to why we are gathered here tonight, _Ned Stark's infidelity_ ; was built on a _lie_." 

Abruptly, Lord Royce rose from the spot he sat, "Lord Reed, I've been familiar with House Reed for the better part of my life, but with all due respect, the man is dead, what's done is done. Let us not delve further and begin to disrespect the late Lord Stark in his castle." 

Howland seemed unphased by the man's words as he cooly shifted and addressed him calmly, "I'm here to ascertain the exact opposite, my Lord." Lord Royce watched perplexingly at the man for a moment, before fleeting his eyes to his fellow Northerners for support, but quickly found none in their equally beseeching eyes. Promptly, he nodded and sat back down. Howland took a step further into the room and resumed his perusal of faces, "You see, Lord Stark didn't return from the Rebellion with _his son_. For he _was_ faithful to Lady Catelyn until the very end, no matter what the Lord may have suggested otherwise. The only reason Lord Stark chose to further the lie, the sole lie I'm able to recollect from the time I spent with the man, was to protect one truth he deemed more valuable than his honor. A truth and _a promise_." Howland paused a moment to let the gravity gradually sink into the quieting hall, "A promise he had made to his dear sister Lyanna on her birthing bed as she lay dying."

Daenerys took the break in the man's speech to refocus her glance back on Jon, who had pitched his gaze intently on the wood of the table in front his him. His eyes seemed locked a thousand miles away, and his form was stiff and rigid, shoulders tight, and breathing stalled. She could tell that his mind was intensely racing inside his head, so she brought her other hand across her lap, and encased his own between his grasp. Deftly, Daenerys rolled her fingers of his knuckles to soothe his distress, which helped alleviate his absent gaze immediately. Blinking back into reality, Jon divulged from his stupor and peered promptly around the room, worried he missed someone's call, before turning to face her with an entreating and grateful smile as their collective eyes trailed back to Howland as the man recommenced to seal the final words of fate.

"I know many of you present have been told and taught this throughout your entire lives, but what I say to you now is true. Rhaegar Targaryen did not _abduct_ , and _rape_ , Lyanna Stark. The truth is that _he loved her_, and _she loved him_. After the actions at the Tourney of Harrenhal, they decided to run off _mutually_." Howland barely was able to finish his sentence before Lord Glover flew out of his seat.

"Impossible! We've all heard the stories, Lyanna loved _King Robert_. No way in Seven Hells that she would've run off with a _Targaryen_!" The man shouted furiously, Jon grimaced instinctually as Daenerys' ire admonished to awake at the man's insinuations.

Just then, Jon turned to his right as his eyes found the source of his soundless quest, "Maester Tarly, did you retrieve what I asked of you?"

At Jon's heed, Sam edged sheepishly out from the cover of a few standing lords, and out of the corner, he was residing, "I -, I did, my Lord." Cautiously, Sam fringed himself to the front of the head table and placed the small journal in front of Jon on the table before flipping it open to a page before retreating to his spot. 

Jon tenderly picked up the journal carefully in his hands before running his thumb over the simple inky words that changed everything. Glossing and reading the brief transcribed message, Daenerys observed his eyes solemnly flick to Lord Glover before electing to speak, "This journal in my possession, Lord Glover, is from the Citadel. More specifically, from the High Septon, who details annulling Rhaegar's marriage to Elia Martell, and affirming his marriage to Lyanna Stark." He extended his hand with the journal to the vacillating Lord, who scrutinized back incredulously. 

After a moment of brief silence, Lord Glover stepped forward and accepted the outstretched Journal from Jon's hand and began to confer the short contents on the page silently. Jon's dark eyes never left the man's as he watched them widen with recognition the further he got down the transcript.

Lord Glover lowered the book and met Jon's sobering eyes. "It's true, and it's right here. Their marriage was annulled." The man croaked out his affirmation of the evidence presented right in front of him. Lord Royce beckoned his hand out to study it as well, to which Lord Glover motioned forth and handed over the journal. "If all you say is true, Lord Reed, then, ... _whose_ babe did Ned Stark arrive with at the end of the Rebellion?" 

Howland coolly shifted to Jon then who met his look with an inadequate, yet irrevocably affirming look and sealing nod.

"Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark's." Howland turned back to face the Lords whose faces were collectively starting to pale as, one-by-one, a cognizance swept through them as puzzle pieces began to come together. For those taking a little longer, Howland completed it for them. "When Ned Stark and I arrived at the Tower of Joy, we encountered and defeated the last remaining Kingsguard of the fallen Targaryen Prince. Shortly after, we found Lyanna Stark and her new-born babe. Weakened from childbirth, she pleaded for her brother to make her a promise. A promise to protect her child... _Aegon Targaryen_."

Jon's head sank low as the air was rapidly absorbed out of the room. All eyes of the room were on him as Lord Manderly's voice shattered up the perforating silence, "Jon Snow never was a _bastard_..." The man breathed. 

"Aye," sucking in a breath, Jon eventually pitched his head up to engage the assaulting eyes of the hall, "Ned Stark kept his promise till his dying day. Hidden from everyone, including myself." 

For a moment, the Great Hall continued in unblemished taciturnity. A stark contrast to the restless shuffling and commotions of moments prior. Jon and Daenerys sat stilly in their seats as the discovery carried over the recipients in continuous convolutions. Her heart expedited with each fleeting moment, before an enraged Lord's call drilled the air. 

"We let a bloody _Targaryen_ reside in the same home whose ancestors were burned alive by his family!" The lords call hailed from the back of the room, but earned increasingly widespread murmurs as they continued, "The same place _his_ family subjugated to kneel!" More raucous calls of agreement rumbled out in response.

Jon quickly raised his arms in the air placatingly vain endeavor to suppress the surging tide, "My Lords, -"just as he commenced, he was punctually infringed by Lord Royce as the man shot out of his seat and turned to face the rest of those gathered.

"A Targaryen sits at the head of the North, and he brought the only other Targaryen with him!" Eliciting more loud cries and protests, Royce shifted to face Jon as their eyes fastened in inclement contestation. "What's to say this wasn't his plan the _whole_ time? To unify the Targaryens, and seize the North while we were recovering!?" 

Surprisingly, before Jon could rise to retort, Lord Manderly arose from his spot and stood in front of Lord Royce before shoving his finger against the man's chest. "I don't know how ignoble you may be, _my_ _Lord,_ but I know Lord Reed, as I did Lord Stark." The larger man scoffed in disgust, "I know them as the two most distinguished men I've ever met. Their intentions are genuine, and if Lord Reed stands before us today in support of Jon Snow, then I trust him, as I did his father before him." He finished with a firm shake of the head. 

Lord Crewyn rose up, "But he _isn't_ Lord Stark's son. He isn't a Northerner! The North _belongs_ to the _North_ , not some _outsider._ " Daenerys clenched her fists and ground her teeth in silent impediment.

"ENOUGH!" Jon shouted as he shot up, and as he ripped his dagger from his belt and slammed the blade down to stick into the table. The lords recoiled back, faces paled, and mouths sealed shut instantly. The hall quieted rapidly, and even Daenerys' eyes widened in restrained shock and admiration.

Jon surveyed the hushed Lords with inflammatory disbelief, fists clenched, Daenerys could faintly discern his jaw muscles flexing as he s swung his cloak over his shoulder and stepped around the table and into the middle of the hall, so he was intimately close with those who dissented moments prior.

He rested for a moment with all eyes and attention on him. "All of you, in this very same hall, _chose_ me to be your king very well knowing I _wasn't_ a Stark." Jon's sharp gaze cut daggers across the sea of faces looking back. "I was nothing but a damn bastard, but you all still put your faith in me to lead you, and I have. We've defeated the _Bolton's_. We've defeated the _Army of the Dead_." 

Jon stepped close to Crewyn's and wavered unblinkingly in the man's space, "Forgive me for believing that maybe it wasn't a name that ordained my success, but rather my actions. I was mistaken." He spat bitterly before turning on his heel and crossing between the rows of Lords and moving towards the head table to stand beside Howland Reed, who stood breathlessly idle in captivated silence.

As Jon planted in place in surveyance at the front of the hall, Lord Manderly took a step forward away from Lord Royce, figuratively and literally, "Jon Snow _is_ the King I chose. Stark, Targaryen, Bastard, or Prince, it doesn't matter. I chose him because of what he could do for the North, and he hasn't let me down." Offering a curt nod over to Jon, Daenerys observed an appreciative smile cross his face as he returned in kind.

Lord Crewyn stepped forward then to speak what had many Lords shifting uncomfortably in their seats, "If what you say is accurate, and you _are_ the trueborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark, then that makes _you_ the true heir to the Iron Throne! Why should we have to follow _her?"_ He crudely pointed his finger over to Daenerys. She found her breathe immediately vent from her body as if a punch slammed into her middle. Slowly, she curled her fingers under the table, as she craned her neck to turn towards Jon.

Daenerys briefly contemplated countering to the man as her mouth parted to break her hesitation; however, she halted her transgressions at the study of Jon's burning and bright eyes. Matching the fire that roared within her, Jon quickly turned and laid his full gaze upon the dissenting Lord. "What you say is true." He submitted with a slight nod before returning his eyes, "However, I have abdicated my claim to the Throne by pledging myself to Daenerys Targaryen. A pledge that I _fully intend to keep_."

Lord Glover opened up next, "What of your pledge _after_ Kings Landing is conquered? What of _what happens_ _next_?" His probe silenced the muttering lords among the hall as Jon took a cautious step back. His eyes flitted to the floor in ponderance of an answer that seemed appropriate, before they slowly turned and met her own in a soundless inquiry. 

Daenerys observed the look of confliction immersed in his gray pools and signaled her approval with a faint nod and a pleasant smile. Jon sighed deeply as his shoulders relaxed slightly, before turning to face Lord Crewyn. "After we've captured King's Landing, I will be staying to aid in the repair efforts as well as assist in whatever orders necessary to ensure the Kingdom's orderly transfer of power."

Some shuffling and unhappy grunts could be heard around the hall as Lord Glover resumed, " _Stay in Kings Landing?_ " His face split out in measured opposition, "The ' _King of the North_ ' doesn't belong in King's Landing. We need you _here, in the North." _

"Aye," Jon bowed his head in respect for the man's words, "but my place now is by Daenerys Targaryen's side." He let a moment of silence perforate across the hall before proclaiming, "For Daenerys has honored me by accepting my hand in marriage." 

The air was collectively sucked out of the hall. Lord Tyrion and Sansa's head's snapped to Jon so quick, Daenerys thought they could've injured themselves. Lord Reed's face cracked a small smile, while the other Lord's of the hall showcased a lively mix of disbelief, bewilderment, and doubt. All while the fluttering feeling inside Daenery's core raged at the sight of Jon's staunchly confident and defiant pose as he braced for the looming storm.

Lord Royce let out a disbelieving and ostensibly frustrated chuff, "Not only are you leaving your people behind, but you also are abandoning your claim to the _Iron Throne_ AND submitting yourself to being a King _Consort ?!" _

Daenerys' time of sitting idle was through at the man's gross prosecution. Having exhausted of lingering silent on the sidelines, she rocketed up from her seat in ardent malice at the Lord occupying down the hall. Methodically, Daenerys pushed herself around the table and claimed a spot next to Jon, who attentively watched her in stillness. Deftly, Jon bit his lip to hide the vague inkling of an amused smile at the sight of her fiery prominence coming to the forefront. 

Daenerys wheeled to face Lord Royce, who had swiftly blanched and shrunk several inches shorter as she arose and crossed the hall. Her gaze bore into him and was as torching as her dragon's fire when she spoke, "Jon will be _ no  _ King _Consort,_ my Lord." She turned to face Jon, who was gifting her a broad and awe-struck smile at her resolute defense. 

In a display of their affirmation, Daenerys stuck her hand out and took Jon's in her own. Linking their fingers together, she peered into the only pair of eyes who mattered, "I've asked him to rule _alongside me_ , not beneath me. As equals, as man and wife, and as King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Nothing less. We shall build a new Kingdom, and we will do it _unitedly_. "

Within a moment, she turned back to the now speechless Lord, still somehow remaining standing with an incredulous look plastered on his face. Daenerys submitted a wry grin to the man who then slowly sat back down at his table. Lord Manderly permitted a fleeting glance around the silent hall before resettling onto the head table, and to the couple in front of it. "With you and Jon both in Kings Landing, then who shall head the North in his stead?"

Daenerys looked down after feeling Jon gently squeeze her hand to rent her attention. His lips were parted, but he remained silent as his focus flitted to the man whose question hadn't crossed his mind before this mind. Fortunately for him, it had crossed hers. "The North belongs to the Starks, and it will _remain_ the Starks under my rule." Punctually, she turned around to face the head table and Jon's sister, "That is why I would like Sansa Stark to be my _Wardness of the North_ in Jon's stead. Mutually, we will work with one another to ensure the prosperity and affluence of the North."

As soon as she finished, Jon's mouth dropped further in apparent surprise in tandem with his widening eyes. Daenerys smiled under his awed and bewildered expression before turning her attention to the other Stark in the room who seemed even more astounded than Jon did. Sansa didn't respond, instead only failed to verbalize several times before Lord Manderly took a proud step forward from where he stood. He swiftly unsheathed his sword and held it high in the end before eliciting a yell, "To the _Starks of Winterfell_ , the _keepers of the North_! The hall soon filled with boisterous and raucous cheers and hollers as more and more Lords jumped up to their feet. 

Daenerys found herself drowned in immense repletion and achievement as she observed the people she viewed as ungrateful jump up in supportive jubilee. Her heart swelled, and she instantly pushed any recollection of the events of the feast from a few nights ago to the back of her mind. Instead, she allowed herself to breathe and relish the moment. Still holding-hands with Jon, they peered across the hall in speechless delight as broad smiles graced their features.

_"To the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"_

Entertained by the effervescent cheering, Daenerys didn't have enough time to notice Jon's arms swinging around her back before he crushed her to his body and crashed their lips together. She immediately dissolved into the exchange as her ears rang from new and louder shouts and calls echoing around the hall. Before long, though, her ears dulled and muted, only drowned out by the thundering and fluttering of her own heart. She found she reaped an even more elevated sense of gratification in the openness of their feelings. No longer having to be hushed away, or kept from prying eyes. From this point on, they could be true to themselves and their feelings, and not a damn thing in the realm was going to stop them.

_"To the King and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!"_

Tenderly, Jon pulled them apart and leaned his forehead on hers. He cracked a nervous laugh and toothy smile before whispering for only her to hear. "You don't know how long I've awaited this moment." Gently, Jon pushed a locke of her silver-gold hair away from the fringes of her face. Crimsoning to an embarrassing degree, Daenerys inched closer and sealed their lips once final time before breaking them apart and shifting her focus as a boisterous call hailed their attention by a, very drunk, wildling kissed by fire.

"I don't know what the fuck any of this means, but I'm so excited!" Jon's face folded into a heartening smile at his friend's inappropriate humor, which Daenerys found contagious as she held back a laugh. Some lords of the hall joined in their brief merriment before the laughter and whispers slowly died down, leaving the two standing in front of an awaiting gathering once more.

Daenerys took a moment to clear her throat before she moved to regain the rapt attention of the hall and reign in a more sobering delivery. She turned to Lord Royce, who had remained rather silent throughout the boisterous hollers of moments prior, and captivated his direct attention. "Lord Royce, I understand your sentiments towards House Targaryen, and your hesitations based on past cruelties my family has previously bestowed upon the North. I stand before you and ask for your forgiveness, and to not judge the merits of a daughter by the sins of her father. I hope the actions aforementioned in this hall this evening are a clear representation of the style of rule I wish to uphold, with your support, as well as demonstrate my desire to break the standard normals."

Jon maneuvered his arms and clasped his hands behind his back as he tilted his head up towards the addressed Lord Royce, who had risen once from his seat and moved to respond. "My disdain for your family is no secret, Your Grace. The actions of your ancestors have left a permanent scar on the people of the North." Daenerys breath briefly stilled as her blood seeped cold through her body. Her olive branch began to wither, but not before the Lord continued, "But, I cannot hold double standards. I chose Jon Snow without the knowledge of his parentage, and he has lived up to his word and lead the North to the best of his ability. He sought you out, and together, you defended the North. While it may not erase the memories of past grievances, if your actions these past weeks are any signs of your commitment and intentions, then this indeed will be a fresh beginning. A new era where once old enemies can come together and become new friends."

Daenerys nodded cordially, and her face bent into an earned smile towards the older Lord. "Thank you, my Lord. I hope you will allow me to showcase my aims further and continue to show you _who_ Daenerys Targaryen is, and why we _can_ work together."

As she finished, Jon stepped up alongside her once and cast his gaze to Lord Royce, "When I was on Dragonstone, or during our stay here at Winterfell, or even battling the dead on dragonback, whenever I looked upon Daenerys, I always saw the same thing. An insatiable drive to help people, not because it is _easy_ , but because it is _right._ " He paused and shifted to turn towards her as his face grew with a broad smile. "That's because Daenerys Targaryen never accepts the world for what it appears to be, but rather she dares to see it for what it _could be_. That's the new world she will usher in, and I'm honored to be considered to be a part of that vision."

Lord Crewyn raised his glass in a toast as he called across the hall, " _That's_ a vision I can _believe in. A_ dream I can _follow_!" The Lord took a few steps forward and moved closer to the front of the room before smoothly turning to face the rest of the gathering, "I haven't been a Lord as long as many of you here, but whatever his name, I'll never forget Jon Snow taking back Winterfell from the Boltons and avenging my father, nor shall I ever forget Daenerys Targaryen coming to our aide at a time when we didn't even know we needed it. She's earned my respect, and a chance to prove what she's capable of. I have been wrong with abstinent support before, but not this time. You deserve this chance, at least." 

Finally, Lord Manderly stepped forward and captured the murmuring attention now. "I'm with you, Jon Snow," he turned to face Daenerys, "and you, Daenerys Targaryen. You've upheld your promises at every turn, and if you're the answer to Cersei Lannister, I couldn't ask for a better resolution."

With the chattering of the hall now dying down to a manageable level, Jon and Daenerys shared one knowing glance at once another as they stood together at the head of the room before Daenerys spoke up for the two of them. "I thank you, my Lords, for taking the time to listen to what we have to say. I wish not to keep you any further from your homecomings, and anticipate your safe travels home." She smoothly turned and rejoined her attention to Jon, "In two days we depart South to end of an era of tyranny. In its stead, a new age shall be bestowed upon the realm, with new rulers, new justices, and new beginnings, for all of us. We can't do it without your help" She called across the hall, " Do you all stand beside us in our goal? Do you all aspire for something _more_? Something _better_?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Lord Manderly and Lord Crewyn unsheathed their swords and hoisted them high into the air. "AYE!" They shouted in before dropping to one knee and bowing their heads. Lord Royce was slow to respond but eventually nodded curtly and returned with a much more controlled, "Aye," before brandishing his sword and dropping down. One by one, the Lords of the significant houses showed their allegiance; before long, the hall had fallen to its knees.

Not wanting to parlay for any longer, Jon strode forward and clasped his hand on Lord Manderly's shoulder and gestured for him to arise. "The North remembers," he stated as the Lords tilted their heads to gaze upon him, "So let us remember this day, as the final hours of a time long overdue. Now, travel forth and return home, my Lords. Speak about what occurred today and share what you have learned. After the Last War has concluded, the new Queen -," he turned to look at Daenerys, "and - king," she smiled at him warmly, "will reach out to you all and acknowledge you for your loyalty." As he finished, he welcomed a smile of his own as the Lords began to rise to their feet and break off into their congregations, while others headed out immediately.

With the tense formalities out of the way, Daenerys stepped closer and submitted a proud smile to Jon as he rounded to face her. "Well, that wasn't as bad as you made it seem?" She mused lightly in jest as she prodded his arm.

Jon chuffed as he faintly shook his head. "Words are wind," he started as he carefully eyed the congregation of Lords that was getting thinner as they trickled out of the great hall, "It matters not to me what they say in our presence, but instead only of what they do when omitted from it."

Daenerys lank optimism dampened with his sobering verisimilitude, but she did not let it shatter her perception that they had made the right decision by informing them by way of their mouths, and not rogue ravens. Her conscience soothed somewhat at the premonition before the loyal Howland Reed wreaked their attention as he stepped into the conversation. 

"Your Graces," The man politely bowed in respect, "I hope my testimony was of satisfaction to your aim?"

Jon quickly moved and planted his arm assuredly on Howland's, "It was more than sufficient. Thank you, Lord Reed." Their faces broke out into equally warming smiles, "We couldn't have done what we achieved this evening without your help."

Howland loosed an earnest chortle, "Nonsense! Nothing will bar the dragon queen and the forgotten prince from what they desire." It was Daenerys' time to permit a laugh as Jon moved to verbalize 'forgotten prince' wordlessly to himself, testing its taste on his tongue. 

As he did so, Daenerys returned Howland's kind words, "We speak true, Lord Reed. You are a dearest and loyal friend of House Targaryen, -" She paused a moment a crimsoned with a quick look over to Jon, "and, - House Stark. We will not forget your help in this otherwise foreboding sequence of events."

"Please, the honor is all mine, Your Grace, " Howland bowed in response, "House Reed stands behind the Targaryens, and will continue to support you throughout your endeavors to cultivate a better world."

With a final bow amongst the trio, Lord Reed stepped out and off to exit the hall. Jon seized the brief vacancy, "' _stands behind the_ _Targaryens,'_ " he chuckled as he repeated the departed man's words and turned to face Daenerys, "In all your life, amongst all your travels and ruling, did you ever think you'd hear that phrase?"

Daenerys immediately glowed as she edged closer and ran her hand along the fringes of Jon's cloak. The emotions surged in her chest and lit a roaring fire that engulfed her chest in a surging warmth. For such a long time, she had felt as if she was the last Targaryen alive. Only to realize that not only was she never alone, but she discovered and had grown to love the only other member of her historical family. The possibility seemed doubtfully scanty, and the improbability was not lost on her. The unlikelihood is the precise reason she was committed and dedicated to ensuring the future she dreamt would not remain a figment of her imagination, but rather an absolute reality of a life-long dream thought intangible.

After what seemed a long moment of ponderous recollection, Daenerys refocused and let her eyes meet Jon's. " _Never in a thousand years._ "

They both smiled warmly at one another and remained fastened on the other's intoxicating gazes before they were quickly interrupted by Sansa Stark, who had made her way over and stepped alongside them. "Forgive the interruption, Your Grace, but may I converse with my brother?" She cast her eyes from Daenerys and slid them over to Jon, who peered at her with darkening focus, "... _Alone_?"

From their previous conversations together, Daenerys understood that this was the first time Sansa heard about Jon's true parentage. She also realized that it perhaps wasn't the setting she would have preferred to receive such information. If they had more time, Daenerys surmised that they could've elected to inform her more personably, but the Spider had forced their hand expeditiously. Instead, she could only hope that Jon's sister would handle the news amicably, and any possible fallout had been defused by announcing the revelation themselves. Rather than letting it be weaponized in private conversations.

Following a brief and awkward silence, Daenerys allowed herself to break her eyes from Jon's and meet Sansa's whose own were oscillating impatiently. "Of course, Lady Stark." She submitted a tight smile and a knowing meander to Jon, who reciprocated her slight tautness. "I shall see you later, Lord Snow."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Jon bowed as he turned and focused his attention on his sister. Abstaining from further vocalizations, Sansa nodded her head towards the back hall beyond the head table to signal their departure. Jon acknowledged her decision and moved to follow her out.

"I imagine we'll be having the same conversation." Hailed a voice that rent Daenerys from her momentary pause. Casually, she shifted on her feet before identifying Tyrion, who had made his way slowly up to her, avoiding joining the conversation while the others were still present. "Shall we set off to a suitable location as well then?" 

Daenerys nodded, "We shall, please lead the way, my Lord. I imagine there is much we need to discuss."

The imp couldn't help but smile, incredulously, "Only a _little_."

* * *

"When did you find out?" Sansa's voice rose increasingly, the more questions she fielded. "How long have you known?!" 

Jon expelled a dejected sigh and rolled forward to rest his hands on the heavy oak chair in the solar where the two had moved to converse just outside the great hall. He had assumed, optimistically, that he would have had ample time to discuss the discovery with his eldest sister at some point at his convenience as he had with Arya. Notwithstanding, Jon acknowledged the current circumstances would most likely rank among the lowest of preferable arrangements to have such discussion with Sansa, had he any choice in the matter. In truth, he hadn't even a notion of an idea of the most desirable conditions when he imagined informing Sansa. Even less so of any circumstance where it would be considered a temperate conversation to have.

Arya was unique, ever since a young age, he always found he could confide securely in her, as she could with him, but Sansa was inconsistent. By and large, he had always felt like an after-thought to her as she waded in Catelyn's shadow. As if the trust was never truly established, or built up. It's not that he _d_ _idn't_ want to inform her, it was just a matter of _how_. 

Begrudgingly he hoisted himself upright again and turned to face the question of his petulant doubts, who expected his reply on the other end of the small room. "It's been only a matter of days since I've learned of the truth, Sansa." He eventually answered. "I was full of just as much surprise and disbelief as you, I can assure you of that."

Sansa chuffed and folded her arms in front of her chest. "Did Howland Reed tell you? Is that why he traveled all this way?" She shook her head and averted her gaze to the ceiling in an attempt to vent her mounting frustration.

Swiftly, Jon moved a few steps closer into the room away from the desk and closer to her, "I didn't learn from Lord Reed, I -," he paused for a moment, "I learned it from _Samwell Tarly_ , who says he confirmed it with _Bran's_ help. Lord Reed only conferred what I already knew by the time he got here."

Sansa narrowed her eyes at him, " _Bran_?" her eyebrow pitched up, "How could Bran have helped Sam discover this?"

Jon snorted and rolled his eyes, gingerly, "Your theory is as good as mine. Bran isn't the same boy I remember; much has changed about him. Things I don't quite understand yet." Slowly nodding his head before shifting and stepping across the room, Jon relocated and rounded in front of the window. 

Her face scrunched in uncertainty for a moment, "How you know that Samwell, and even Bran, are telling the truth? What made you _know_ that what they were telling you was true, and they weren't fabricating it all?"

Jon turned around to face her and shook his head from side-to-side. "Why would they have done something like that?" 

"Daenerys _burnt_ Sam's father and brother _alive_ , Jon, and you know that, right?" Sansa laid out matter-of-factly, "Perhaps, he intended to tell you so you would rival your claim against hers, as a form of getting revenge?"

This time, Jon was the one that scoffed, as if the very idea was ridiculous enough to cross her lips. "Sam isn't the revenge type; besides, I knew from the moment he told me that it wasn't a fabrication. I _knew_ it was real because it harkened back my last memory with father." He turned to look at her earnestly, as she stood in respective silence. "' _The next time we see each other... I'll tell you about your mother. I promise.'_ Those were the last words he ever spoke to me, Sansa. I have to believe it was for a _purpose_. _This_ is that purpose; _my_ purpose." Reminiscent in remembrance, Jon dipped his head down after earning an easing and remorseful look from Sansa.

From the fringes of his sight, he caught her form encroaching on him as she stepped further into the room and closer behind his turned form. "Jon, I'm sorry he wasn't able to tell you what I imagine he had been waiting to share with you since the day you were born, but -," She momentarily went quiet, "I -, I don't understand why you didn't come to me with this information as soon as you knew."

Jon turned to meet her entreating eyes. The hurt look in them made him cast his eyes down in brief semblance of shame. _Did I do the right thing? Should I have told her how I originally envisioned? Was Daenerys right?_ He shook the skepticism of his mind, "Sansa, you need to understand that this information was, -, _IS dangerous._ To not only _myself_ , but _Daenerys._ I had to be cautious with whom I shared it with."

"And am I not the _right_ person to share it with then? You're family, Jon. What do you think _Arya_ would think?!" Sansa fumed back tightly, a bit offended as she nearly through gritted teeth. 

"I don't know!" Jon blistered back, "I don't know what you would've done had I told you, which is _exactly_ why I didn't." He stared at Sansa for a moment, disbelievingly. _How could he have trusted her after having spent so much time with someone like Littlefinger?_ Jon sighed before easing his gaze to the floor, "I told Arya before she left. She already knows the truth about me." 

Sansa swayed a step back in continually mounting indignation and turned to put her back to him. She was a quiet a heated moment but eventually spoke once more with her back still to him. "You know what the truth about you means, Jon... " Pushing the personal afflictions out of the way, she rounded to him then, " _You_ are the _heir to the Iron Throne._ It's _yours_ by right _,_ not _hers,_ Jon _._ "

Immediately, his chest deadened as his heart sank. His gaze roved solemn as the final confirmation of previous warnings he discreditably brushed aside came immersing to the surface. _Daenerys was right, once again. _ "I don't want the Throne, Sansa." Jon captured Sansa's staunch gaze and intercepted it with a silent plea for understanding and sympathy, "You talk about how we are family; about how I should've understood your intentions and came to with this. In that same vein, how could you think I would want to sit on the Iron Throne? Do you even pretend to know me at all?"

"You don't want the sovereignty? That's sure what it sounded like when she was talking all about all the things you'll accomplish, ' _together'_ as she's said so proudly countless times!" Sansa fumed back sourly. 

"Aye, and I'll be glad to do whatever I can to make a difference with _her by my side."_ Jon's attempt to appease swiftly turned unbelieving as his face skewered into a scowl. He thrust his finger and pointed it directly at her, "Let's not forget, she's named _you_ her _Warden of the North!_ You want _power_ , Sansa? You're getting it! You're getting more than you have ever known! A king, the North to call your own, when will this bitter rivalry stop?"

"You think I'm that shallow, do you?" Sansa shook her head and took a deliberate step backward, "That I'm seemingly the only one with a _measured_ head because I'm _lustful_ for power?" 

Jon sighed and placed his hands on his hips as he cast his head down. His languished breathe barely eased his tiding impediment as he kneaded his eyes. "Then tell me, Sansa, what is it you're after?"

A long silence hung between them as Sansa gazed waveringly back at him with eyes that gradually grew glossier with each passing moment. After an expansive suspension, seemingly waiting to see if he would surmise the courage to discern the answers she thought obvious, she choked as a crestfallen tear slipped from her eye. 

Turning her away from him so he could only glimpse the profile of her face illuminated by the firelight, she murmured barely above a whisper the confidences of heartfelt vulnerability.

" _Family_ ," Sansa wisped nearly inaudibly. "I want our _family back_ , Jon."

A wave of guilt slammed into Jon's chest as he rose to his feet. He ventured to take a step closer to Sansa and reach his arm out to graze her shoulder, "Sansa," Jon started, as she still faced away, "you _have us_. _All_ of us, we're all right here, in _Winterfell."_ He quickly let off a defusing, and disbelieving laugh, "I never thought I'd see you again while I live. I didn't expect to see _any_ of you, but we are here. Aren't we?"

Belatedly, Sansa turned around again and faced him, this time, her cheeks were wet with tears as they had begun to fall freely down her face. "I've dreamt of this moment, Jon, ever since I watched father's head roll off his shoulders. Every time that I've had to fight, claw, and grit my teeth to survive." She pitched her head down and shook her head, and her voice drifted softer, "Now that it's here, the Starks back in Winterfell, a faraway fantasy come true, you want to _break it apart_. To pledge yourself to a Queen, we barely know. To head south, to a land that has forsaken our family. Why can't we be happy with what we have, Jon?"

Jon returned her destitute gaze as he perceived her fallen shoulders. He took a step forward and reached out. This time, Jon made contact with her hand as he delicately took it and clasped between his own. He looked supportively into her eyes then as he let a thin smile across his face. "I don't want to break us apart, Sansa. Just as I don't want to fragment this dream of yours, but things ... are _different_ now. We are no longer the young and innocent children that used to run around these very halls. We've grown, changed, _however_ necessary to get us to that next sunrise." Jon took a moment to maneuver his hand to Sansa's shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze, "We will _continue_ to grow, and change, but the one thing that will always remain constant is the family that we have in _one another_. Nothing will ever change that, Sansa. No matter if I'm the _'Bastard of Winterfell,'_ the bloody King of the Seven Kingdoms _,_ or whatever _secretive revelation_ turns up next."

Thankfully, Sansa permitted a generous laugh, which he shared, as the two let smiles draw across their faces. Slowly but surely, the splitting tension between them gradually dissipated as a period of reflection hung between them. They both took the time to gaze into the crackling flame, as comforting fizzles and snaps of firewood helped perforate the air around them.

Before long, his attention was broken as Sansa's voice brought him out of the tranquility of the calm moment, "So..." She hailed quietly without breaking her forward attention, "You're going to do it then? You're committed to going south with Daenerys?"

Jon looked intently into Sansa's steady gaze, her nearly imperceptibly upturned brow betrayed her outward skepticism. He derived that she already knew the answer to which she sought, but he still sighed and moved to press his hand over her shoulder. "Aye, I am." With a glance at the flickering fire, his voice grew somber, "After the war is over, I'll return. We'll have that homecoming you desire so much; And for once, we'll have no enemies at our backs, across the realm, or even across the sea. We will be able to come together as a family, secure and stable, unlike we have ever been able to before. I promise you this."

Sansa smiled brightly at him as she placed her hand on his in support, "Thank you, Jon." 

His heart eased a bit, and his breathing came steadier as he took in his sister's lightened expression and relaxed features. It wasn't perfect, but he knew he would be a man of his word and return to keep his promise. He couldn't lie to himself though, the reality of the situation still bore heavily on him even though the levity of the celebrations from the victory of the Long Night had provided ample distraction. Time seemed to pass by momentously slowly as if it knew what lay before them and was attempting to let them revel in the brief interlude of relative respite.

Jon pushed the flurry of thoughts out of his mind for the time being as he smiled lightly and bowed his head. "Forgive me, but I believe I should go and rescue the Queen. I imagine I am not the only one whom those must have questions for."

Sansa shook her head, "I'm certain. Don't let me keep you; we shall speak later."

"Of course." Jon nodded one final time before politely brushing past her and to the door. He pulled it open and stepped outside and began making his way to the Great Hall, where he last saw Daenerys. Upon arrival, he found it nearly empty with a few stragglers and servants cleaning up some glasses that remained strewn across various tables. Taking the cue, Jon continued through the Hall and edged outside to the Courtyard, where he ventured to resume his hunt before his eyes met the query of his search standing atop Winterfell's walls with an Imp by her side.

* * *

" _MARRIAGE?_ To _Jon Snow?_ " Tyrion lambasted as he paced anxiously around in front of her, "I know I said I liked the man, but... Have you even _thought_ about this at all?"

"Yes, _we_ _have_ thought about it." Daenerys' anger flared from a potent mix of mistrust and bitter fury. "The timing wasn't an arrangement of our making, rather a consequence of circumstances devised out of our control." She snapped back as she cast her face away and peered over the ramparts to the settling Dothraki and Unsullied. She found comfort in the view of her armies garrisoned in their camps outside the castle for the evening. 

Tyrion sighed as he stepped around her and planted himself in place, drawing her attention back as he staunchly met her ardent disposition with an equally stubborn steadfastness. "These consequences, they unquestionably involve _Lord Varys,_ otherwise why else would Jon have had him locked up; Explain it to me, fill in the part of the puzzle I'm so obviously missing." His tone lessened from its rise of moments before as he waved his hands in front of him in a gesture of encouragement.

Daenerys turned, the torchlight from the lamps perched on the walls warmly illuminating the profiles of their faces as she met his gaze. "Lord Varys had uncovered the truth about Jon;He approached Jon and endeavored to persuade him to go against me. To wield his claim against mine and declare the Iron Throne for himself." Steadily, she averted her eyes lower as concern still hovered in her mind about the Spider, no matter if he was caged. The initial stinging bite of the betrayal wasn't the concerning part, but rather the lingering and seeping poison that can come back later in aftershock waves and threatened to be far more devastating if left untreated.

This new bout of information broke the Imp from his stupor as he raised his brow gradually raised from its usual propensity. "You're _certain_ of this, then? Of his intentions?"

Daenerys nodded, "Jon came to me immediately and informed me of what had happened, and that he had Lord Varys imprisoned."

Lord Tyrion took a moment to process this as he stirred his weight and moved to lean his back against the rampart. The warm glow highlighted the profound focus in his eyes as he stared at the ground in front of him. "This, ... this doesn't _seem_ like Varys. He's more intelligent than this. He wouldn't have done something so careless to get caught."

Daenerys quirked an eye at her advisor with a glare, "Mayhaps he underestimated Jon; mistook his loyalties? It wouldn't be the first time you've have misplaced your faith."

Tyrion shook his head, "It's that _loyalty of which_ that I have a problem. Varys should've known. Who would be so blind as not to see what you two have so openly laid in front of everyone up until this point?" 

"Perhaps it was only obvious to those who were unfortunate enough to have shared a wall with me during the trip to White Harbor?" She quipped with a smile.

Tyrion practically snickered as he rolled his eyes, "Ha-ha, hilarious, Your Grace."

She leaned back and straightened herself into a defensive posture. "So, you question Jon's loyalty then?"

"No, of course not! Who in the seven kingdoms could ever doubt the commitment of you two?" He shook his head promptly and pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward towards her, " _That's_ the problem. You want to get married; I understand that. But look around, you already _have Jon's_ support, and with it, _the North."_ He stepped past her and maneuvered to overlook the bustling courtyard and cast his arms out in a wide arc. "What about the others that have shaken their faith? Or those of which require a reason to fight to begin with? You already have him in your grasp, so you could - _should -_ use _marriage_ to leverage _other alliances_."

Daenerys bunched her fists firmly at her sides in frustration, "Is that all this is to you? A piece on a gameboard?" Her words trickled with vitriol, " _Twice_ I've been married or sold off to serve othersbest wishes or desires. _Now, I_ will be the one to chose my fate. _I_ will be the one to decide who is right or wrong. _Do you understand me_?"

Tyrion brought his hands up in defeat, "I didn't mean offense, Your Grace, I'm merely trying to advise you on something I believe you should _reconsider_."

Flustered, Daenerys brushed past him and planted her hands on the cold stone of the rampart. For a transitive moment, she closed her eyes and reflected deeply on her 'advising.' Letting the cold, biting air, coax itself through her, she surmised that one of the only essential pieces of advice that Her Hand had given her in the recent months was his suggestion to hail the reception of the King in the North. Ironically, at the time, it was a suggestion that she initially loathed. And even more so after the formidable front delivered by Jon as he stood resolutely in her Throne room. 

The recollection of a seemingly distant time now-past brought a generous smile to her face as she continued to peruse through her recent advice. From there, however, it shifted dramatically in an unfavorable direction. _Which stung more?_ She silently queried to herself. _Was it the advice that cost us the Reach and her allies? Or maybe the embarrassment that was her 'parlay' attempt with Cersei?_ Quickly, she shook her head and withdrew it down as that thought brought upon the wound that cut the deepest. _Viserion._

Her voice brought his attention back to her, "I will _not_ reconsider this decision, Lord Tyrion." He turned to face her as a deflated appearance took over his features in disappointment. The audacity annoyed Daenerys more than it probably should have, as her voice resonated with far more severity than she intended, "Previous attempts to listen to _your_ ' _advice_ ' has left me with nothing but death. The deaths of my allies and even the death of one of my _Dragons._ A grievance I cannot ignore. Let us now forget now, the treason of your _esteemed friend_ , who you vouched for so highly."

"Your Grace," Tyrion's voice had nearly gone pleading as he stepped forward, "I know I haven't made the best decisions in the past, but please, you have to understand what I'm telling you now _will_ guarantee _more_ alliances."

Daenerys scoffed and shook her head at her hand, "This is where your abilities fail you, Lord Tyrion. For with this Marriage, I secure the only alliance I will need. The rest will fall in line with the destruction of the false Queen Cersei, and support us in the restoration of justice throughout the realm." Tyrion stood wordlessly as he cut her a sharp glare from under the torchlight wrought with disbelief, but choosing to abstain from further entanglement, for the time being.

Before he could recall his resiliency and devise another way to interlock in another exchange, Jon made himself present as he slowly ascended the stairs to the rampart and attended a cautionary gaze over her way after a brief survey of Lord Tyrion's presence. Daenerys met his inquiring gaze and signaled for him to join her at her side.n

"Your Grace," Jon nodded in greeting as he regarded her invitation. Maneuvering across the short distance from the stairs before settling next to her, he clasped his hands behind his back and took a cursory glance over the encampments. He quietly shifted and turned inwards towards her, so he faced her fully while keeping his back to Tyrion, "Is everything alright? Have I... interrupted anything _important_?"

Daenerys shot him a comforting smile as she moved forward to lay her hand on his arm, "Lord Tyrion and I were merely speaking about the latest information we have bestowed." 

" _Ah_ , I see." Jon chuffed and smiled in return, "I've just come from a similar conversation with Sansa. She, ... reasonably wanted to understand a few things." Catching the raise of her brow, Jon's smile stayed before he stirred in place to observe Lord Tyrion. "And what does _Lord Tyrion_ think of the latest information?"

Tyrion sighed before stepping forward, closer to the two of them so they could converse more in a group, "I, -"

"He doesn't _approve_ of our _solution_ ." Daenerys wasted no time cutting Her Hand off and skipping right to the point. Jon leaned back and crooked an eyebrow of his own. "He believes I'm making a grave mistake and that I should be more focused on offering myself to other, more _advantageous_ suitors."

"Is that so?" Jon purred before stepping forward in a show of defiance. As he moved into her space, he quickly snaked his arm around her side and drew them close together, he drew his breath down her face and peered down at her dilating eyes. "And what does the _Queen_ think?"

Daenerys gazed up at him and ran her finger up the fabric of his sleeve, before lowering her voice, "I think the Queen makes her _own_ decisions." 

"Oh, _Seven Hells_ , not like this!" With a scuttle, Tyrion spun around quickly to avert his eyes, "I've already _heard_ enough, I'd rather fight the dead again than have to _see_ it as well."

The two shared a boisterous chuckle but granted his request by only sharing a swift kiss. Breaking apart, Jon put his antics aside and grew serious as he returned his attention to Tyrion, who slowly peeked around to see if the coast was clear. "I must admit, I am a little disappointed in your reaction, Lord Tyrion. After all, I'm only following your guidance."

Tyrion stared blankly at him at for a moment in acute recollection, before ultimately shaking his head and giving up the search. "And, ... what guidance is that? Last I recall, I don't explicitly remember discussing how to handle the newfound information of your true parentage."

"It seems all that drinking has hindered your once acute memory." was all Jon offered to start. Tyrion shifted his weight and took on an edged expression instantly. Jon smiled nonchalantly, as he divulged, "' _Never forget what you are; the rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor, and it will never be used to hurt you.'_ You once told me, and that's precisely what I've done."

Daenerys turned and observed Jon's stoic face as he awaited the Imp's response. Her mind churned over the phrase again in her mind, and the metaphorical significance in its wisdom. Tyrion crooked his head up finally and returned Jon's gaze, "Oh, that's good; _very good._ I guess I have myself to thank for that."

Daenerys noted Jon's fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I assume, Daenerys has informed you about the actions of Lord Varys?" Tyrion slowly nodded his head, "Then, you can understand that he would be only the first of many. What better opportunity could opponents of Her Grace's ask for, than another with a stronger claim? Without unity, others would follow in his footsteps, while together, none shall plot and scheme to tear apart what can't be divided."

Tyrion parsed his lips and turned to pace a few steps gradually as he mulled silently in thought. Without turning, he called over his shoulder as he retained his positons at the ramparts, "A sound proposition, I suppose, but you don't think that will be the end of it, do you?" He turned then, "Northerners are quite testy with their prejudices, and what of your sister? Did she approve of this... _plan?_ "

"No," Jon shook his head, "She didn't know, Sansa only found out about all of this at the same time as you did."

The imp cracked a dry and humorless laugh, "I'm glad to know I'm not the only one being kept in the dark."

This time, Daenerys stepped up to Jon's side and met Tyrion's gaze with severe agitation at his presumptuous assertions, "Sansa didn't know because I _asked_ Jon to let us consider the repercussions of his discovery _first_. Then _, afterward_ , we'd plan to address you and make you aware. However, that was _before_ Lord Varys broached treason. His actions meant we needed to move quicker than anticipated."

Finally, Tyrion's resounding resolve cracked as he let out a long sigh. He slackened slightly and pushed himself up from the rampart that he was leaning on and proceeded to retake his spot in front of the two of them. "I don't _like_ it, I don't _agree_ with it, but I _accept_ it." Daenerys submitted a warming smile, a hopeful signal that the tense conversation could be laid behind them, and they could begin to move forward in the same direction once more. "I anticipate we'll have much more to discuss regarding this in the weeks leading up to the seizure of King's Landing. I won't exhaust it anymore tonight, I will leave you two, while I go and gather a _nice drink_."

Daenerys bowed her head formally for Her Hand, "Thank you, my Lord. We shall speak later." Tyrion shot her a minute smile, as Jon did the same, before nodding one final time and heading to depart down the stairs. As their little company descended and left their presence, Daenerys naturally gravitated closer to Jon, until eventually, she found herself surrounded by him in his tight embrace. The two stood in silence for a short moment, before Daenerys managed to wiggle herself into the comforting warmth of his broad Northern cloak. She nestled her face against his warm chest to battle the fringing and biting cold, all while eliciting a clatter of cheery chuckles from Jon.

"What in _Seven Hells_ do you think you're doing?" He laughed as she wrapped her arms around his waist, and let the cloak envelop around her. Ultimately hiding her form and leaving only her head over from the concealment of the warm furs as she poked out to look up at him.

Daenerys hummed pleasantly as his arms slid around her shoulders and held her close to his chest, where she laid her ear to rest upon his clad leather. "Can't a girl get warm without raising questions?" She playfully lipped back as she peered up at his smiling face.

He beamed at her, "My _wife_ can do anything she pleases, she is the _Queen of the Seven Kingdoms_ after all." Daenerys rolled her eyes but arched up on her toes to steal the lengthened kiss they subdued moments prior. Breaking apart slowly, they kept their heads rested on one another's as Jon spoke again, "I take it I didn't need to be here for the whole conversation to get that Tyrion didn't take everything well?"

"No," She sighed and moved back to resting the side of her head on his chest, "but I'm not surprised. He will come around. His pride doesn't like him being in the dark about anything. Give him a few drinks, and he'll forget his affliction." Jon snorted and pitched his brows as he nodded in wordless agreement. "... I take it Sansa had a few choice words to share with you as well?"

Jon groaned, "Aye, she's worried about the future and what exactly this will entail. Her goal all these years has been getting the Starks back to Winterfell after my father's death, and now that it's finally happened, she feels like this is tearing it apart. I assured her the best I could." He leaned his head down and rested his cheek on the silvery-gold crown of her head as he gazed out from the rampart and across the Northern Landscape. "She didn't necessarily bring up any objection to being _Wardeness of the North_ during our talk, so I take that a positive sign at least."

"It's a start," Daenerys chuffed as she joined his faraway gaze, "and the Northern Lords? What's your feeling about that?"

He didn't reply immediately as he took a minute to play-back the earlier confrontations in his mind from the Great Hall. Eventually, she surmised, he had rolled over them enough when he lamented a heavy sigh. "It... could have gone _worse?_ We have that to go on, at least."

She nearly puffed, "Encouraging as always, my King." 

Jon merely rolled his eyes and hugged her tighter to him, "I was very grateful for Lord Reed's assistance, as well as Lord Manderly's support. Without them, I would doubt whether we'd made the right decision."

"So, you _do_ still think it was the right decision then?" She asked as she crooked her head up from her comfortable spot to peer up at him.

" _Aye_ ," He replied in earnest, "It'll take time for some of the Northern Lords to come around, like Royce, ... or Crewyn; But they will, I _assure_ it." He offered her a comforting and kind smile. "It's not _them_ I'm concerned about, it's the ones we can't talk to directly that worries me. What of the ones who will hear from word of mouth or a raven?"

"I feel the same," she admitted as she exhaled, "Without our words and presence to draw their support, it'll be our actions the define us." 

Jon grinned, "And we shall not disappoint them; we have a capital to take. Afterward, the rest of the realms can send their envoys, and they can come to see for themselves the world of which we'll build."

Daenerys gazed at him proudly with a massive smirk, "Are you _sure_ you've never envisioned ruling before?"

He grunted, "You're lucky you make a convincing argument."

Just as Daenerys moved to perch her head upon his chest, an approaching pair of footsteps could be heard ascending the stairs. They both turned instinctually to the new company as she murmured into his furs. "Maybe, if I am still enough, I can pass as apart of your cloak."

Jon barely had time to suppress his laugh as their new guest appeared at the height of the stairs, and immediately slowed to a stop after rounding to face him. Dreading that it might be Tyrion having come back after, or with, a drink, Daenerys kept herself leaned against Jon as she held her attention across the expanse. 

However, it was not Tyrion's voice that wrought her attention only an awkward hesitation later. "Lord Snow, if I may, do you have a moment?" 

_Jaime Lannister._

Instantly, she broke apart from Jon and smoothed her dress as she turned to face the man. Upon recognition, a brief moment of surprise plastered his face. Quickly he conjured an appropriate response along with a bow, "Your Grace, I had no idea. Should I come back at another time?"

Jon's lips moved to answer, but not before he carefully pitched his head to her and awaited her verdict. His respect out of awareness of the dark history between the two of them was appreciated, but she felt that now was an opportunity to twist the knife deeper. Instead of evident hostility, she returned a smile, "No, that's quite alright, Kingslayer. Lord Snow and I were merely discussing the reception to this evening's gathering."

Jaime winced at the drown-out mention of his infamous title before resettling his gaze upon Jon, "That is why I'm here, Your Grace, I wanted to speak with you about the information that was shared, and the truths you've revealed."

Jon nodded at the one-handed knight, "Anything you can say to me can be said in front of Daenerys. You have my reception and attention."

"Thank you," Jaime's eye trailed somberly as he shifted them tentatively to the floor with a quick flick between the two of them. "It's about your father, Lord Snow. _Rhaegar_."

Of all the topics the man could've have brought to speak with Jon, Daenerys couldn't hold back a snicker at the one he opted to front, "Are you here to tell him that you aided in the death of his father too? What other despicable crimes are you capable of against my family?"

Jaime brought his eyes back to lock with her own, assuming the same resilient stoicism he displayed when confronted in the Great Hall when he first arrived at the Winterfell. They gazed defiantly at another for a moment, before Jaime conceded and exhaled deeply. "Your Grace, I don't expect you to understand why I did what I did, but I assure you if there were an alternative, I would've pursued it." 

"An _alternative?"_ She commented incredulously, "I'm sure there were _many_ alternatives that didn't involve _murdering a father_."

"There was an _alternative_ , ... " Jaime shook his head slowly from side-to-side as he averted his gaze to the stars above. "... his name was _Rhaegar._ " He paused with his focus still on the moonlit sky, before returning them gradually back down and meeting eyes with Jon, who still stood as a participant in the conversation, "And yet, he was murdered all the same as a consequence of your father's actions, no less." 

Daenerys recoiled at the perception and chose to remain quiet. Jaime turned his footing and shifted to face her fully, "I don't know of the romanticized stories you've been told growing up, but your father was an evil, despicable man. I'm sure Jon has told you about the fate of his grandfather and uncle?"

It wasn't Daenerys who responded then, but rather Jon, "I have, Daenerys knows the crimes her father committed. She _doesn't_ need to be reminded."

The Kingslayer didn't seem phased by his input, sliding his eyes to Jon's for only the briefest of moments, before tracing them back to Daenerys once again. "Yes, but did you tell her _how_ your father killed them?"

Jon tensed defensively for her, "That's not important, what's important is -"

"Tell me then," Daenerys surprised Jon as she interrupted him with her focus set on Jaime. "Tell me how they died. Wildfire, wasn't it?" Jon brought his face around to protest, but after glimpsing the severe look on her face, he sucked in whatever rebuttal he held and instead poised to listen to what the Kingslayer had to say.

Jaime cleared his throat briefly before he folded his hands behind his back. "If Wildfire were the extent of it, it wouldn't have been so disturbing." 

He shook his head, "Wildfire wasn't enough for Aerys. He wanted to make a _show_ out of it, to _indulge_ in it. So, he strung up Rickard above a pyromancers roaring flame and informed his son that there was a chance to save him." Jaime paused for a moment as Daenerys' chest tightened with palpable dread before he began to pace in front of them. "Desperate to save his burning and screaming father, Brandon tried hopelessly, again and again, to reach a longsword that was placed ever-so-slightly out of reach, as a noose contracted around his neck the closer he got to saving his father, until eventually, only spaces apart from reaching his father, he was strangled to death." Daenerys' face paled at the fate worse than she could have imagined. "The truth is, there was never any chance of saving him; it was rigged from the start." 

The two remained steadily quiet, as Jaime's story silenced their inner inhibitions. “I used to tell myself that I was doing my duty. That I was merely a knight of the Kingsguard. I found 'traitors,' but I wasn't the one burning them alive. It's what I told myself when I watched them beg for mercy - I'm not the one doing it. When the pitch of their screams rose higher - I'm not the one doing it. When their hair caught fire, and the smell of their burning flesh filled the throne room - I'm not the one doing it. When the Mad King shouted for the hundredth time, _'BURN THEM ALL!_ ' - I'm not the one doing it." 

He continued to glance between their sullen faces, "Ask yourselves, if you were ordered to kill your father by a man gone mad, would you have done it? Stood by idly as thousands died if he set Kings Landing alight?" Daenerys dropped her gaze to the ground, "I thought not. I did what I had to do for the good of the realm." Following his statements, he sighed, "For what it's worth, I _am_ sorry. Not for _what_ I did, but for the fact you were affected. In another life, things might've been easier for you. Forgive me, Yout Grace, for I did come here to trouble and upset you."

She waved him off, politely, "You did not upset me, Ser Jaime. I'm, ... _processing_ the information you've told me. I never knew quite the extent my father went. Now I _know_." 

Daenerys looked thoughtfully at the man; the tension still quite pointed between the two of them. As she gazed, she no longer saw a murderer, but instead, a young man that was caught in the middle of a situation he couldn't control; Being asked to do the impossible, all while being told to impassively look the other way against grievances that would've invoked a life-time of regret and repentance. Forced to make a decision, he acted in the way he thought best, and it's an action that still haunts him to this day, she could recognize that. 

Daenerys clasped her hands in front of her and regained her queenly disposition. She quietly sucked in a breathe, before committing the words she maintained she'd never to speak to the man that presently stood before him. "I _forgive_ you, Ser Jaime."

Jaime rocked back somewhat, before resettling himself, "I never asked for forgiveness, Your Grace." His head tilted to the side, perturbed.

Daenerys shook her head, "Nor may you want, nor need it, but I recognize the situation you were thrust into and the unpleasant decision you were forced to make. Given another option, I believe you when you say you would've chosen another way had it been presented to you."

For the first time during the conversation, an inkling of a smile appeared on Jaime's face as he motioned to bow, "Thank you, Your Grace." He shifted and nodded to Jon as well before taking a step back.

This time, he looked earnestly between the two of them, "But, like I mentioned, ... I'm not here to talk about Aerys; I'm here to talk about _Rhaegar_." He turned to face Jon now, "When your father left for the trident, he put his trust in me to look after his family. He put his trust in me that, after he returned, things would be different, and I failed him. Had I been on that battlefield, I might've been able to save him. Had I not been a coward, I might've been able to save your brothers and sisters. I wasn't there, and I couldn't save them."

Jaime suddenly stepped forward closer to Jon, "But I'm here now, with his only living son, as he works to create a better world, free from monsters like Aerys, or Cersei. I failed in my vow to your father, Lord Snow, but I will not fail in a vow to you." Jon looked utterly caught off guard as his lips parted to say something, but Jaime halted him. "I wish to travel with you to Kings Landing, Lord Snow. Until this is all over, and Cersei has been dealt with. If you'll have me."

Daenerys had to admit to herself that she probably looked as flabbergasted as Jon did in that present moment. For a moment, neither of them knew quite what to say or how to react. Fortunately, Jon recovered and cleared his throat, "You may travel with me to Kings Landing, Ser Jaime. We do leave the day after tomorrow, will you be ready by then?" 

Jaime laughed lightly, "All I have is what I can carry."

"Then it's settled." Jon nodded at the man, "I imagine we'll have lots to discuss along the journey." 

Jaime gave a thin smile, "We will, indeed."

Jon stepped forth and laid a hand on the man's shoulder, "We appreciate what you've shared, it's offered us much insight, and things to think about. We thank you." 

The one-handed knight flashed a thin smile, "Thank you for taking the time to listen to me. I know we don't have the best history, but I believe I can start to right the wrongs, starting here."

With a nod, Jaime turned and descended the stairs back the courtyard, leaving the two alone once again on the castle wall. When the footsteps of his presence finally faded away, Daenerys immediately heaved a heavy sob and steadied herself by catching hold onto the rampart. Jon raced over and circled his arms around her to prevent her from falling. Comforted by his tender embrace, she levied her breathing as crushing waves of anxiety slammed one after another. For a moment, she found it hard to breathe. As if there was an invisibly boot pressing hard against her chest

_'BURN THEM ALL,'_ She heard the screaming words resounding in her head. Haunting echoes of a father never knew, whose actions had defined her entire upbringing. With every step, every move she made, she walked under his monolithic shadow. Doubt and uncertainty constantly preyed from its inky depths, looking for any slight crack in her defenses to tear down her resolve and leave her full of insecurity and anguish. 

Her mind ran rampant, ignoring all pleas and calls she might've heard from Jon's concerned voice. Instead, she slammed her eyes shut as she ventured back in time to recall her own words. _'I offer you a choice, bend the knee and join me, .... or refuse, and die.'_ That was the ultimatum she gave the Tarly's, and they made their choice.

_But... was it right? Was it just?_

Wrenching herself up from her hunched over position, she turned and drove forward into Jon's arms. A tear slid it's way down her cheek, glistening momentarily before being absorbed into Jon's cloak. "Jon, I ..." She whispered weakly into the furs on his collar, "I - I've burned men alive, Jon, I've watched as they screamed and melted away from this world." Slowly, she maneuvered out of the crook of his neck, and looked earnestly into his eyes, "How can I act like I'm different? I've always fought and told myself that I'll be _better;_ that I'll never be like _him,_ and yet, I feel like I can't escape it. What if I _can't_ escape it?"

Daenerys shook her head from side-to-side as more tears began to slip from her eyes, but not before Jon gently brought his hand to cup her head and nestle her into his embrace again. She softly sobbed into his shoulder as he spoke, "You _are not_ like your father, do you hear me?" He softly rocked her in his arms, " _You_ are _Daenerys Targaryen;_ you are the fairest, and honest person I know. You are powerful when you need to be, yet still merciful in choice. Tough, yet compassionate. Firm, yet sympathetic. _You_ inspire _me_ , as you do _everyone_ who follows you, and you _will_ have that _better world_ you dream about so much. Because that's what _Daenerys Targaryen_ does, she leaves the world _better_ than when she found it, you _always_ have, and _always_ will."

Tears flowed freely at Jon's sincere reassurances as Daenerys moved deeper into his embrace and let herself sink into his arms. She made no move to break away as they idly swayed from side-to-side in the whistling and icy northern chill. With her eyes closed, she heard him continue as he whispered serenely into her hair, "One day, I'll make you see yourself as I do."

Gently, she peeled her head away just enough to look up at him through joyous tears, "I'm not sure if I should be flattered by you using my own words against me, or pestered." Jon's face broke out into a warming smile in reflection of her own that blessed her features. He shook his head and kissed her forehead as she took a moment to wrap her arms around again him nice and tight.

Perceptibly, Jon looked around them, up and down the lengths of the walls, before turning his attention back to her, "Now, I don't know about you, but I'd certainly like to resign to my quarters for the evening before anyone else has the audacious idea of broaching a new flurry of questions. Would you like to accompany me in my escape attempt?"

Daenerys laughed then, "Shall I stay hidden under your cloak until we get there? A stowaway princess rescued by her prince, is it?"

"Oh no," Jon laughed, "I'm afraid _I_ should be the one under _your_ cloak." She chuckled softly with an unruly smirk as his brow pitched up in delayed realization from the interpreted duality of his statement. His lips settled into a smile, "You just going to stand there and stare then? I'm sure we have _lots of_ crucial _considerations_ we must attend to, in light of the announcements this evening, of course." He shot over with a wry wink as he played along.

"We mustn't delay our work then," Daenerys glowed at him, "Lots of _situations_ require our _dire attention_." She stepped forward and took his hands in hers and raised herself to meet his lips with her own. They pulled away gradually with equally endearing smiles before Jon casually turned and edged her along with a pull on their interlocked hand. She fell quickly in line next to him as they worked their way off the castle way and back down the stairs to the courtyard, which was now emptying as the residents slowly turned in for the night.

As the two unhurriedly made their way across the quiet inner castle, Daenerys briefly met the wandering eyes of the sparse passersby who gave her reassuring smiles and nods. Quick to reciprocate, she found the opportunity to relish in the peaceful and serene scene around them as she elicited her mind to wander. If she endeavored, she felt as if she could tangibly discern the hope that this brief interlude, this short expanse of tranquility, will be the foundation of the new world she envisioned to create.

It wasn't much, but this evening was the start of cementing the pieces into place. Amidst the Northern Lords' support, however tenuous at the present moment, the rest of the realm should fall rather quickly in line in support of the destruction of Cersei, or shortly thereafter. While the unified and combined front presented by her and Jon will work to stamp out any disparaging doubts and uncertainties presented by the current situation afforded by Lord Varys' actions. The truth is, while she infinitely would've preferred to keep hold of the comfortable safety of keeping Jon's revelation out of the light until the timing was more convenient, she knew this was an area that required an enterprise of confidence.

Jon's truth never had to be an affair to worry about, but rather a blessing that worked in both of their favors, and while she admits she didn't see that initially, she does now. Howland Reed proved invaluable to the provocation of information, and she was convinced the Northern Lord's reception could've been much worse, had they not had Lord Reed's favorable and loyal support. It was something that she would never be able to express her full gratitude for the man's astute timing with his arrival to Winterfell, and his sympathetic understanding and commitment to their success, however undeserving she felt of it.

"Are you coming in, or would you prefer to sleep in your quarters for the night?" Jon asked as he stood holding open the door to his chambers, awaiting her entry with piqued interest.

Daenerys grinned, as Jon's voice broke her from her timely inward reflection. She observed his smiling face as a grin crossed her own. Slowly, she edged past him into their chamber with a kiss on the cheek, "You don't think you can get rid of me _that_ easily, do you?"

He beamed as he gently let the door shut behind him, and close out the first night of a life-long aim that would never be the same again. "I'd never dream it."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, after two months, I cannot express how relieved I am to finally have the latest chapter for you all. Between a trip to California for the D23 Expo, Hurricane Dorian, lots of Job over-time, and moving across the city to a new apartment, it's been an insane couple of months. Now that I'm situated in my new place, and are once again locked into a normal, and stable routine, I'm incredibly thrilled to get back into the world of Ice and Fire.
> 
> I truly am deeply sorry you had to wait this long for the latest chapter. While I will refrain from making any empty promises about a scheduled upload rate, rest assured that it will be much faster than this previous gap. I would like to take this moment, however, to reaffirm my commitment to this story, and make a promise that I CAN keep which is that 'Reclamation' will be finished. I love this universe, these characters, and this community, and can't wait to continue on this adventure with you all. 
> 
> Thank you so, so much for your utmost patience and understanding. See you sooner this time, sound good? Much love, as always.
> 
> ~Undead


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